-^^( 


es. 


A  Sheaf  of  Grain, 


BOUND  BY 


AN  OI^D  GRANGER. 


W 


KNOXVILLE,  ILL. 

REPUBLICAN  BOOK  AND  JOB   PRINTING  ESTABLISH3IENT 
1890. ■ 


PRKKACK. 


"  Another  book  ! ''  the  iudigiiant  public  cries, 
As,  piles  on  piles,  the  unwelcome  volumes  rise  I 

"  Another  tax  on  patience,  purse  and  brain, 
For  fame  just  printetl,  or  for  greed  of  gain  I '' 

Cease,  gentle  Public!  spare  the  censor's  ta-sfcs! 
No   fame  the  author  seeks,^no  ducats  asks! 
His  meek  ambition   never   soared   so   high, 
To  please,  by  published  books,  the  public  eye  I 
'Tis  printed,  true :   in  type   its  stanzas  stare  t 
A   few   loved   friends   have   urged   him  th\is  to  dare 
The  critic's  scowl,  the  scholar's  censuring  frowa. 
The  wit's  sharp  joke,  the   tattle  of  the  town  I 

Friends  say  :     '•  Whafs  printed  for  our  eyes  alone 
Is  not  Sir  Critic's  business,  but  our  own!" 
All  this   is  true,   good   friends !   but  you'll  confess. 
Dame   Grundy  scans  your  dinners,  and  yotir  dress; 


IV.  PREFACE. 

Which,  though  your  private  ventures,  all  the  more 
That  bustling  lady  claims  the   right  to  score ! 
Your  manners,  morals,  moods,   her  strictures   wait, 
Your  nose,  if  sharp  or  pug ;  your  form,  your  gait ! 
Would  interview  your  nerves,  dissect  your  brain. 
And  its  "  gray   matter "  weigh,   by  ounce   and  grain  ! 

"Well,"  answer  prompt  my  friends,  "what  does  it  boot, 
j(When  not  of  fame  nor  wealth  you're  in  pursuit) 
What  critics  say  ?"    True  logic,  I  admit. 
A  lash  stings,   though  one's  not  deserving  it ! 
And  when  the  critic,  in  a  playful  mood. 
Dubs  me  "Spring  poet,"  "literary  dude," 
Or  "crank,"  or  "crazed," — if  such  sharp  quips  I  hear, 
'TwOl  much  offend  my  ample  granger  ear ! 

"In  a  few  years,  your  life's  probation   o'er 
They'll  vex  those  broad,  expansive   ears   no  more  ! 
Banish  your  fears, — your  modest  doubts  repress : 
Your   friends,  who  read,  will  suffer  most,  I  guess !" 
And  so,  half-willing  to  be   drawTi  along 
((Though  shamming  modesty)  to  sing  my  song, 
i(  Like  rustic  swain,  coaxed  by  his  lady  fair,) 
I  give  my  quavering  numbers  to  the   air ! 

The  Author. 


\V1LKRKD. 


A  T^ale  of  Ancient  Hungary. 


BY   JAMES   W.   TEMPLE. 


^Vc 


UPERT  THE  STRONG,  as  ancieut  legends  show, 
On  the  broad  Danube,  centuries  ago 
■s^f     A  lofty  castle  built ;   the   dashing  wave 

'  Doth  to  this   day   its   crumbling  ruins  lave ; 
'^^  A   Baron  bold,  whose   fame   the   world   did  fill, 
^■^    Of  giant  stature,  and   unbending   will. 

Here,   in   his   hold  impregnable   and  vast 
In  haughty  state  stout  Rupert's  days  were  passed; 
Broad  were   his  lands,   unquestioned  was   his   sway, 
His  will,  the  law  'twas  death  to  disobey ! 
Prompt  vassals   sprang  to   catch  his  lightest   word. 
Proud  of  their  thralldom  to   so  bold   a   lord, 
Fierce  in   the   field,  dark-browed,  and  huge   of  limb, 
His   weaker  neighbors  feared  yet   honored  him  ! 


A    SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

His  'was  the  name,  and  his  the  banner  dread, 
Before  whose  charge  the  affri^'hted  Moslem  fled. 
What  time,  incautious,  o'er  tlie  ravished   plains 
Their  plundering  bands  approached  his  wide  domains, 
When   weaker  nobles,   driven   from   their  grounds, 
Took  refuge  in  their  castles'  safer  bounds ! 
The   bloody  tale   few  reached  their  homes  to  tell, 
How  on  their  unguarded  flanks  flerce  Rupert  fell ; 
Bow,   swung  by  arms   of  more   than   mortal  might, 
One  ponderous  axe   gleamed  pitiless   and  bright, — 
Clove  skull  and  bone,  crashed  stoutest  armor  through. 
While  dying  Turks  groaned  their  last  "  Alia  hu  !" 
This  was  their  last  vain   effort ;   from  that  hour 
Waned  the   proud  Crescent's   erst  aggressive   power ; 
And   Bux^ert,   flushed  with  triumph,  turned   in   pride, 
To   rule   despotic   o'er  the   Danube's   side. 

But  not  on  earth  is  perfect   bliss   e'er  found. 
Thf  tempter  plied  his  trade   on   Eden's  ground, 
Nor,  since  that  dreadful  day   of  shame   and   sin. 
Can   wall   or  barrier  bar  his   entering  in  ! 

Stout  Baron   Rupert,   in   his   high   estate 
Cherished  one  weakness  common  to  the  great, 
Ambition  to  be  greater  !     "In  his  youth 
Had  not  his  prowess  won  him  fame,  forsooth  ? 
Were   not   his  valiant  deeds  on   every  tongxie 
Where'er  the  praise   of  chivalry  was   sung? 
Did  not  that  brawny  arm,   long  years  ago 
Win    these   broad  acres  from  a  vanquished  foe  ? 
Why   rest  content  with  great  achievements  done, 
While   fairer   provinces   might  yet  be  won  ?" 

Thus,  when   we're   blest  beyond  our  merits   here, 
Some   lurking  Devil  whispers   in   our  ear, 
Starts   fell   ambition   from   his   sleep,   or   calls 
Insurgent  Passions  forth  to  storm   our  walls  ! 

But  fate  seemed   hostile  to  the   Baron's  plan. 


A   SHEAF   OF      GRAIN.  7 

His  monarch,  prompt  to  check  a  risintr   man 

Whose  growing  power  might  trench   npon   his  own, 

Scotched  the  young  serpent  ere   its  fangs  were  grown ! 

A   royal  edict,   'neath   his  seal  and   hand 

Confirmed   the   hard-won   title  to  his  land 

By   letters-patent,   over   hill  and   plain, — 

Fixed  metes  and   bounds  to   Rupert's   vast   domain ; 

Sealed  the   high   charter  with   his   signet  ring, 

But   "  thus   far  and  no   farther,   saith   the   King !" 

Hemmed   in  aiid  hampered  by  the   King's   decree. 
Fierce   Rupert  chafed   in   secret.     "  Why  should  he 
Who  wrested  from  the   foe  this  fair  estate, 
And   'gainst  the   conquering  Moslem   closed  the  gate. 
Be   caged  and  mewed   up   in   his   present   bounds, 
With   navight  to  amuse   him  but   his  horse  and  hounds, 
While   mid   rich   Southern   plains,   a  temptmg  prize. 
O'er  mosque  and  mound  the  Turk's  curst  Crescent  flies  ?" 

Rupert   was   wise  :  'twere   madne.ss  at   this   hour 
To  brave   his  monarch's  wrath,   and  breast  his  power ! 
He   yields  him   to  his   King,   or   seems  to  yield. 
And  draws   his  fierce   retaineTs  from   the   field. 
But  ever  thence   might   Hungary's  monarch   know 
And   count   his   mightiest  vassal   as   his  foe ! 
For,   from   that   hour,   in   Rvipert's   seething  brain 
Couched   dark   Rebellion,   fierce  to   break   his   chain ! 

The   Baron   had  a  son,   a  gallant   youth,-- 
Strong,   fearless   as   himself,    the   soul   of  truth. 
The   flower  of  chivalry ;   famed,   far  and  near 
For  feats  of   daring  ere   his   twentieth  year, 
At  which   our  tale   begins.     His   was  the   blow 
First  in  the   chase  to   lay  the  gaunt   wolf  low. 
Or,  in  its  woody  haunts,  beyond  his  train, 
Stretch  the   grim,   white-tusk*'d   boar  upon   the   plain ! 
No  spear  in   Hungary   'gainst   his   could   stand, — 
No   skill   or   strength   resist   his   matchless  brand  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Wilfred  his  name.    His   frame,   well-kuit  and  tall, 
Couspicuous  shone   at  tournament   or  ball ; 
His   form,  the   embodiment  of  stately  grace, 
Matched  the   frank   beauty   of   his  manly   face ; 
And   the   calm  glances  of  his  dark  blue   eye 
Spoke   of  a  gentle  heart  and  courage   high. 

This   son,   his   haughtj'   sire,   (  who  loved   him  well 
But  loved  ambition  more,)  so  legends  tell. 
Had  pledged,  in   furtherance   of  his   deep-laid  plans 
To  wed  the   daughter  of   Count   Rosencrans, 
His  ally  and   sworn   friend.     And  oft  of  late 
As  Wilfred  swiftly  grew  to   man's  estate, 
The   Baron   "gan  to   hint,  in  cautious  phrase, 
Of   plans  long  cherished,   and   of  coming  days 

"When,  with   some   high-born   lady  for  his  mate, 
His  gallant  son   should   magnify   his  state ; 
And,  linking  to  their  cause   a  friendly   power, 
Prepare   to   seize   Fate's   first   auspicious  hour, 
And  see,   if   Hungary's  King  would   saj'^  them   nay, 
When   his   best   Barons   swore  to   have  their   way !" 

Thus  did  the   warlike   sire   his   plans   impart, 
And   seek   to  plant  ambition  in   his   heart. 
And  thirst   for  fame,   so   potent  with  the  young; 
But  Wilfred   ominously   held   his  tongue, 
Or  answered  still,  in  youth's  indifferent  way, 

"'Twould  do  to  talk  about  some   future   day."' 

The  Baron,  anxious  grown,  yet   loath   to  press 
The  matter,  knowing  Love  is  fetterless, 
And  scorns  the  semblance  of  a  curb  or  chain, 
Tried  all   his  arts,  but   found   persuasion  vain  ; 
Then,  grown  impatient  at  the  youth's  delay. 
Grew  stern  at  length,  and   warned  him  to  obey  : 

"Count  Rosencrans,  a  Knight  well  known  to  fame, 
A  daughter   hath,  sole   heiress  to   his  name. 
Fame   speaks   her   beautiful   beyond  compare, 


A    SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  9 

Her  nature   uoble,  aud  her  virtues   rare. 
Her  I  would   have  thee  wed  !     Nay,   do  uot  frown, 
Her  thou  shalt  wed  before   the   year  be   liowii. 
Or  learn,    what  thou   of  late  seem\st  doubting   stilL 
.Thy  sire   hath  means  to  bend  thy   stubborn   will !"' 
Answered   his  son.   respectful   still,  and   calm : 

"  Father,   to  you   I   owe  whate'er  I   am ; 
And  if  my  life   can  liquidate  the  debt, 
That   life   I'll   yield   before  the   sun  is  set ! 
If  aught   of  service   at   my  bauds  you  ask 
That  honor  sanctions,  freely  name   the  task ! 
To  wed,  where   love  is  not,  our   honor  soils, — 
Conscience  forbids,   and  nature's   self  recoils ! 
False   were  I   to  my  God,  myself,   aud   thee. 
And  doubly  false   to  her  you'd  mate   with  me. 
If,   bitter  guerdon  to   her  matchless  charms, 
I  go.  a  perjured  husband,  to  her  arms !"' 

A   strange  look  crossed  fierce   Raperi's  swarthy  face 
And  left  it  pale  as  death !    He  paused  a  space. 
Strode   thrice   across  the   hall   to  cool   his  ire, 
Then  with   forced  calmness   spoke   the   offended  sire : 

"  Fair   son   of  mine,  thy  words   aud  mien  forecast 
A  clash   of  wills,    our  first, — 'twill  be   our   last ! 
Thy  honor,   silly   boy !     Thy  conscience   too. 
Forbid  to  give   thy  sire   obedience  due  ! 
A   pretty  tale,   forsooth !   aud   titter   far 
For   minstrel  wight   who   twangs  the  light  guitar, 
And  sings   soft   nonsense   to   weak   maiden's  ear, 
Than  thou,   a  Knight   to  tell,  thy   sire   to  hear ! 
Hear  then    my   word  !    This  night,   outside  the  gate, 
A  mounted  convoy  shall   thy   coming  wait. 
Inquire   not  where   thou  goest.   nor   seek  to  know 
More   of  thy   fate   than   that  I  choose  to  show ; 
In  strict  seclusion,  in  a   lonely  tower 
Thou  shalt  remain  a  prisoner  from   this  hour ; 


10  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Guards  shall  thy  safety  vouch,  thy  wants   supply,— 

Remain,  and  live,— seek  to  escape,  and  die! 

There,  ample   space  thy  leisure  may  afford 

To  ponder  o'er  thy  sire's  unheeded  word  ! 

When   next   I   see  thee,  boy,  thy  part  will   be, 

To  wed  the   noble  mate  I   choose   for  thee, — 

Or.  if  thy  stubborn  will   still  holds  its   sway 

The  world  will  lose  thee   from  that  fatal   day! 

Back  to  thy  prison  sent,   a  living  tomb. 

Thy  name,  thy  fame,  shall   perish   in   its  gloom ! 

Thy  vaunted  strength,  thy   skill  in  arms  no  more 

Shall  win  renown ;— thy  short  career  is  o'er  ! 

No  more  thy  lance,  well  poised,  shall   drink  the  life 

Of  snarling  wolf,   or  end  the  tourney's   strife. 

There  yet  is  time  !  one  word,  rash  boy,  will  save 

Thy  youth's  fair   promise  from   a  living  grave ! 

Thou  wilt  not  speak— I  know  thy  pride !— 'tis  well,— 

We  meet  not   soon  again.     Till  then   farewell ! 

This  much   I   ask-thy  promise,  ere   we   part. 

To   keep  thy  name,  thy  rank,  locked  in  thy   heart ! 

And  thy  parole  that,  till  the  year  be  flown 

Thy  boasted  honor  be   thy  guard  alone. 

To  keep  thee  in  thy  bounds.    "Thou'lt  not  rebel?" 

I  know  thy  truth,   good  son  !     Again,   farewell !" 


When   our   first   parents  fled  through   Eden's  gate, 
The  mighty  forest,  piteous  of  their  fate 
Stretched  its  vast  arms  above  their  shrinking  forms. 
And  gave   them  shelter  from  the   sun  and  storms ! 
Beneath  its  leafy  screen  their  homes  they  made,— 
Among  its  giant  trunks  their  children  played;— 
Till,   urged  by  growing  needs,  with  growing   skill 
They  learned  to  hew,  and  frame,  and  carve   at   will. 
Soon,  human  habitations   rose  to  view. 
Vast  temples  reared  their  spires,  and  cities  grew! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIX.  11 

Then  man,  crowned  King  of  forest,  field  and  plain, 

Casts  wistful  eyes  across  the  trackless  main, — 

Scans  the  horizeii  where,  from  waters  blue 

Low,  verdant  isles  rise  dimly  into  view ; — 

Then  to  the  forest  turns;  beteith  his  strokes. 

Fall  with  resounding  crash  its  mighty  oaks ! 

His   skillful   hands  their   shapely   outlines  hew. 

Burn  their  hard  hearts,  and   launch  the  light  canoe. 

Soon,   bolder  grown,   he   seeks  the   broader   seas. 

And  mighty   ships   spread   canvas  to  the   breeze. 

Whose   outstretched  wings  bear  Commerce   on  her  way, 

And   Empire,   eager  to  extend  her  sway; 

And  blest   Religion,  with   the   holy  Word, 

Till  Earth's  remotest   isles   shall   praise   the   Lord ! 

Thus   doth   the   Forest,   hospitable   still, 

Befriend   and   shelter  man,  through  good  and   ill. 

In  youth  and   age   alike   his   constant  friend,— 

Nor   even   in   death   doth   its  kind   service   end ; 

His  bier,   his  coflin,  and  the   cypress  tree 

That   shades   his  tomb,   kind   forest,   come   from   thee! 


Deep   in   a  vast,   unl)roken   solitiide 
In  sylvan  shade   a  lonely  Fortress  stood. 
Built  in   those   days   when  the  advancing  Turk 
Gave   Europe   all   she   craved   of  bloody  work ! 
'Twas  on  the  verge   of  Rupert's  wide   domain. 
Where   wood-crowned   hills  descend  to  wooded  plain,- 
Where   snow-capped  mountains  in  the   sunlight  glow. 
And  deeper  mark  their  shadowy  flanks  below. 
No  life  seems  near,  save  what  its  walls  enfold. 
And  the  few  guards  who  round  this  lonely   hold 
Keep  sullen   watch   and  ward.     No   sound   is   heard, 
Save   the  shrill  whistle   of  some   passing  bird, 
Or  howl  of  wolf,   or  mountain  eagle's  yell. 
Re-echoing  weirdly   through   the   darkling  dell! 


12  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Within  the  fort,  little   does  Wilfred   find 
To  charm  the  senses  or  beguile  the  mind. 
Of  massive  rocks,  rough-hewTi,  the  walls  were  made 
Cemented  each  to   each.     A   dim   light   strayed 
Through  barred  embrasures,  struggling  through  the  gloom,. 
And  but   half  lighting  up   each   sombre   I'oom ; 
No  ornaments  the  blackened  timbers  bore 
From   smoke-stained  overlays  to   puncheon   floor. 
Save   where,  from   darkened  niche   or  rafter  brown, 
Pierce  boars'-head    grinned,  or  antlered  stag  looked  down,. 
Or  wolf's  gaunt  jaws,  or  wild-cat's  glaring  eyes 
Spoke  the  rude  skill  which  dressed  the  hunter's  prize. 

Scant  furniture  it  held:   a   pallet  rude; 
A   table;   benches,   from   the   neighboring  wood 
Rough-hewn;    some   narrow  shelves,  on  which  were  stored 
A  few  choice   souvenirs,     a   preciou«  hoard. 
His  hariJ,   once   loved,   unvalued  and  unstrung, 
Beside   his  useless  sword  neglected  hung! 
Xear  these,   from  the   dark  v/all,  all   out   of   place 
It   seemed,  looked  down  his  sainted  mother's  face, 
(Taken   when  young — alas,  too  young  she    died!) 
Yet   harp   and   face   were   fitly   side   by  side, — 
Both  seemed  to  typify  the   loved  and   dead, — 
The   semblance   present,   but  the   spirit  fled  I 

Around  the  walls,   on  wooden  brackets   hung 
His  knightly   armor, — for  the  lad  was  young, 
Xor  had  the   false   humility  to   hide 
These   tokens  of  an   honorable   pride  ! 
Such   pi'ide  the   soldier   hath,   who,   doomed   to   die, 
Dons   his   best  trappings  as  the   hour  draws  nigh, — 
His  stars  and   medals   on   bis   breast  arrayed. 
Steps   proudly  forth   to  death,   in   Dress  Parade  1 

Hithci-   had   Wilfred  come.     His  courage   high 
Scorned  "weak  complaint,   and   checked   each  rising  sigh;; 
Inured   to   hardship,   little   did  he   care 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  13 

How  rude   his  eoueh,   how  simple  was   his  fare ! 
Each  bare,  black  wall,   each   dimly-lighted  room, 
Matched   but  too   well   his  spirit's  sullen  gloom, 
While   angry   passions   raged,   but   half  siippressed 
And  just   resentment   fired   his  youthful   breast ! 

And   here,   like   prisoned   panther,   day   by   day 
He   paced  with   restless   steps  the   hours  away. 
Nor  cared  to   extend  his  walks,   so  dark   his   mood, 
Nor  scarce   look   forth  beyond  the   narrow  rood 
The  palisades   enclosed — nor  deigned  to  test 
His  jailor's   courteous  offer,   kindly   pressed. 
Of  steed  and  tendance,   should    he  wish   to  ride, 
Or,   for   his   walks,   a  trusty   squire   and  guide. 

It  chanced,  one  morning,  while  the  Spring  was  young, 
When  her  first  verdure   on  the   branches  hung 
That   swept  the   windows  of  the   woodland  tower, 
Filling  the   air  with   breath   of  leaf  and  flower, — 
Wilfred,   half-dreaming  lay.     A  gentle  mood 
Had  soothed  in   part  the   fever  of  his  blood; 
And  Hope,  descending  with  the   breath  of  Spring, 
In  his  bruised  heart  her  siren   song  'gan   sing! 
While  thus   in   listless    mood  our  hero   lay. 
And   dreamed  the   idle   hours  of  morn   away, 
A  girlish  voice  was  heard !    At  first  so  low 
And  faintly  did  its  murmuring  accents  flow. 
His  half  awakened  senses  deemed  it  still 
But  the   low   cadence   of  the   mountain   rill; 
Then,  as  the  silvery  accents  rose  and    fell 
His  ear  and  heart  took  in  their  meaning  well. 


SONG. 


What   is   life   to   souls  that   mourn  ? 

What  is   Spring  to  heart  that's  sere? 
Vernal  flowers  and  birds  return 


14  A   SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

But  Winter's  gloom   shrouds  all   my  year ! 
What  to   me  is  moruing  bright,— 

What  the  clear  sky's  liquid  blue  ? 
Souls  bowed  down   by  sorrow's   might 

Naught  of  heavenly  beauty  view ! 

Happy  heart  whose  love  is  free  ! 

Life  for  such  is  endless  Spring, 
Darkest  night  shall   lighted  be 

By  Love's  aui'oral  shimmering ! 
Birds  shall  sing  from   leafless  tree, — 

Koses  bloom  'neath  Winter's  snow. 
Where   both  heart  and  hand  are   free, — 

Where  love  and  plight  together  go ! 


"Some  peasant  maid,"  he  thought,  "or  soldier's  childy 
Sharing  his  exile  in  this  forest  wild. 
A  lonely  lot,  poor  maid !    Yet  voice  more  sweet, 
(Though  fraught  with  pain,)  mine  ears  did    never    greet 
In   lordly   hall,   or   high-born  lady's  bower ! 
Strange,  that  a  peasant's  voice   should   have   such  pov.er 
To  thrill  my  soul,  my  startled  sense  to  chain, 
And  wake  to  life  my  deadened  heart  again  ! 
Yet  'tis  not  strange.    Our  serfs  mid  want  and  care 
Solace  their  sordid  toils  with  music  rare; 
Harps  twang  in  humblest  huts,  and  from  among 
Their  rough-chinked  walls  ring  forth  rich  bursts  of  son  g. 
Poor  child  !     Is  not  her  lonely  lot  enough, 
With  poverty  and  toil,  companions  rough — 
Doomed  thus  Vjy  cruel  destiny  to  dwell 
Like  grey-beard  hermi«t  in  his  sunless  cell, 
But  e'en  lier  peasant  heart  must  not  be  free 
To  wed  its  choice  ?    Must  she  Jbe  sold,  like  me, 
To  satisfy  ambition's  fierce  desire. 
Or  swell  the  fortunes  of  some  churlish  sire  ? " 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  15 

Thus  mused  youu^'  Wilfred  when  the  song  had  ceased. 
And  though  with  every  day  the  wish  increased 
(Fed  by  odd  scraps  of  intercepted  song 
Caught  up  by  random  winds  and  borne  along,) 
To  meet  the  peasant  maid  who  sang  so  well, 
His  pride  forbade,    and  fear  to  break  the  spell ! 
"What  if  the  voice  he  joyed  to  hear,  were  joined 
To  rude,  coarse  features,  and  a  vulgar  mind  ? 
And  those  soft  accents  rose,  so  sweetly  pure. 
From  the  low  daughter  of  some  red-faced  boor. 
Whose  plow-boy  lover  had  proved  false,  or  grown 
To  slight  the  love  too  lightly  made  his  own !" 
And  so  the  days  went  by,  till  favoring  fate 
Brought  a  chance  meeting  at  the  outer  gate  ! 

■Twas  a  bright  morning  in  the  month  of  May 
When  Wilfred,  casting  gloomy  pride  away, 
Stept  first  beyond  the  gates.     On  every  side 
Dark  forests,  newly  leaved,  stretched  far  and  wide. 
Save  where  small  fields  of  grain,  in  darker  green. 
Rich  with  their  springtime  promise,  showed  between. 
Beyond,  high  towering  o'er  the  forest-wall, 
Dark  mountains  rose,  whence  many  a  waterfall 
Flashed  in  the  sun;  and  many  a  height  was  crowned 
With  wreath  of  snow  on  its  bare  summit  bound ! 

Long  gazed  our  hero  on  the  varied  scene. 
And  longer  would  have  looked,  but  that  between 
The  landscape  and  the  lad,  a  vision  sped, 
Might  tempt  St.  Anthony  to  raise  his  head, 
And  lay  his  book  aside  !     A  youthful  maid 
Before  him  stood;  her  graceful  form  arrayed 
In  plainest  garb.     Her  morning  dress  of  white 
Well  suited  to  a  day  so  warm  and  bright, 
Could  boast  no  ornament  to  lend  it  grace, 
Save,  to  confine  its  flowing  folds  in  place, 
An  azure  scarf,  whose  fringes  reached  tbe  ground, 


16  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Was  loosely  o'er  her  shapely  shoulders  bound, 
Circling  her  slender  waist  before  it  fell, 
And  helped  define  her  matchless  figure  well. 
'Twas  such  a  simple  dress  as  might  array 
A  burgher's  daughter  in  that  early  day,— 
Save  that  its  lack  of  jewels  might  confess 
Her  taste  was  lietter  or  her  iceaUh  was  less  ! 
But  there  was  something  in  her  look  and  mien, — 
Some  chaim  of  manner,  easy  to  be  seen 
Biit  harder  to  define — a  native  grace. 
Self -poise,  and  dignity  in  form  and  face. 
That  filled  the  stranger  with  a  glad  surprise, 
Before  her  wondrous  beauty  charmed  his  eyes ! 

A  bright  young  face,  whose  eyes,  like  morning  dew. 
From  May's  clear  heavens  stole  their  liquid  blue  ; 
Nor  stopt  alone  their  coloring  to   secure 
But  drew  expression  from  that  fountain  pure ! 
Cheeks,  where  the  rose  did  with  the  lily  blend; 
Lips,  which  the  rose  alone  did  color  lend. 
Yet,  were  you  blessed  to  touch  them  once,  you'd  swear 
You  found  the  honeysuckle's  sweetness  there  ! 
To  frame  her  picture,  nature  paused  to  throw 
Soft,  massy  ringlets  o'er  a  brow  of  snow. 
That,  round  her  slender  neck  descending,  lay 
Rich  with  the  sunlight  of  the  golden  day ! 

Rapt  Ijy  such  vision  in  so  strange  a  place. 
Young  Wilfred  stopt,  and  gazed  an  awkward  space. 
Blocking  the   way  !    Thus   Balaam,   all   amazed. 
Of  old  upon  the   unlooked-for  angel  gazed; 
Then,  with  quick  homage,  such  as  courtier  pays 
To  high-born   dame,   his  cap   he   hastes  to  raise 
And,  all   respectful,  speaks:     "If  I   offend. 
Or  undue   freedom,  use,  my  unknown   friend. 
By  offering  speech  which  usage  might  deny. 
Hear  my  excuse   and  judge.     A   prisoner  I, — 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIX.  17 

In   durauce   held,  yet   for   uo   fault   or   crime, 
I   bide   within   this   fortress   for  a  time  ! 
My   rank,   my   iiame   alike   forbid   to  tell, — 
Why  prisoned   here,   and   where   I   erst   did  dwell, 
This  much   I   say, — believe   it   if  you   can 
Of  prisoner   wight — I   am   a  gentleman  ! 
Further  I'd   speak   with  you,   if  you'll   allow, — 
But   if   you   dovibt   me,   pass  and  leave   me   now  !" 

Answered   the   maiden:     "Courtesy  should   teach 
'Twere   churlish  to   refuse   a  captive   speech ! 
And   so.   Sir  Prisoner,   what  you   have   to   say, 
How  I  may   serve  you,   freely  tell,   I   pray !" 

"One   question   first:     Whom   do   I   now    address?" 
"Sir   Prisoner,   that  I   leave   you  free  to  guess !" 
"Enough  !     No   right   have   I  to   ask  your  name 
(My   own   witheld),   nor   whence   nor  why  you   came 
To  this'  blank  solitude  ?     But   may  I   know 
If  yours  the   lute   whence   mournful  murmurs   flow. 
And  yours  the  voice   from   whose   sad  plaints   I   gain. 
Its  owner's   heart  is   not   all   free   from   pain  ?" 

•She   started, — blushed ;   then   rallying,  answered  light : 
*'  Be  not  inquisitive,  oh  captive  Knight ! 
Weird  wilds  are   these  !     Those   plaintive   notes  may  flow 
From   airy  sprites  that  haunt  the  glen   below ! 
Our  lives   have   mystei'ies   we   may  not  tell 
Howe'er  we  would.     Let   mine   in   silence   dwell ! 
SuflSce  to   know   this   much :     I  tarry  here, 
Like  you,  a   portion   of  this  passing  year. 
Like   you,  I   scarce   remain   form  choice,  and  yet 
No   prisoner  am   I.     And,   since  we've   met 
It   may  be   in  my   power,   while   here   I   stay 
To   serve   you,  if  you'll   frankly   point  the   way." 

"  In  truth ",   he   said,   "  small  service   I   require ; 
My  jailors  furnish  shelter,  food  and   fire. 
'Twould   be   a  lout   indeed   would   fault   his   fare, 


18  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Enough   foi-   health,  though   i:»lain  and   coarse  it  were ! 

Or   his  rough   bed  and   board.     A   soldier  I, 

Unused  to  life   of  ease   and  luxury ; 

And,  but  that   idlesse   chafes  my  fretful   mood. 

And  rank  injustice   stirs  rebellious  blood  ; 

And  thoughts  of  what  I  was,  and  what  might  be 

So  I  might  but   regain  my   liberty,— 

And  but   for  clouds  that   blot  my  future's   sky, 

None  would  repine  less  at  his  lot  than  I ! 

Enough  of  this;    And,  while   I   may   not    seek 

To  question  more  what  you  are  loth  to   speak. 

Before  I  tvirn  me  to  my  prison  den, 

Say,   may   I   hope   to   see  you   soon   again  ?" 

"Sir  Prisoner,"   said  the  maid,  with  glance  askant, 
"  'Twere  vain  to  promise  what  one  may  not    grant ! 
Your  guards — my  duties,  may  not  leave  us    free 
Were   such   our  wish;    fitter  perhaps   'twould  be. 
Since   Fate   has   sealed  our  lips,  and  drawn  her  veil 
Around   our  lives — and  since  the   painful  tale 
That  binds  us  to  these  wilds  we  may  not   tell. 
Here  where   by   chance   we've  met   we   say   farewell ! 
My   duties  call   me   now, — I   may  not   stay; 
Your  guard,  too,  waits  ;    Sir  Prisoner,   good  day !" 

Wilfred  was  young — his  early  life   had   sped 
In  active   sports  and  toils ;  the   life   he  led 
Before   his  exile,  left  him  little   space 
For  Love's   soft   blandishments  or  Beauty's  grace ! 
His   horse,   his   hounds,   his    bugle's  stirring  note, — 
His  blade,  deep  drinking  from  the  wild  boar's  throat, — 
The  straining  chase   of  stag  up   mountain   side, — 
The  wolf's  fierce  howl  as  on  his  spear  it  died, — 
These   were   his  boyish  joys;   but  when   at   re.st, 
Music  had  power  to   soothe  his  boyish   breast; 
And  oft,   when   evening  closed   on   daily  care. 
His   harp's  wild   notes   trilled   on  the   moonlit  air  ! 


A   SUEAF  OF   GRAIN.  19 

But  those   were  stirring  times.    The  Turk  still  tried 
To  advauce  the   Crescent, — and,  in  sullen  pride 
Checked,  but  not  conquered,  showed  unbroken  front. 
And  Ilungai-y,   that  alone   had   borne  the  brunt 
And   held  the  Moslem  back,  still  stood  at  bay, 
And,  like  a  lion,  bari'ed  his  onward  way ! 
And  jarring  factions,  in  the  ceaseless  storm 
Of  states  chaotic  moulding  into    form, 
Bred   constant  broils;    so   knights  with   fame  in  view 
Pound  fields  enough,  and  ample  work  to  do. 

And'  thus  it  was,  like  many  a  youthful  knight 
Who  joyed  in  sports,  and  kept  his  armor  bright 
For  stirring  chase,  or  skirmish  with  the  foe. 
Little   of  woman's  ways  did  Wilfred  know ! 
His  warlike   sire  cared  little   to    engage 
In  the   few  pleasures  of  that  warlike  age, 
But  kept   his  state  in  gloomy  grief  and    pride 
Since  the   sad  morning  when  his  lady    died  ! 
No  high-born  dames,  no  ladies  bright  and  gay 
To  Ruperfs  Castie  cared  to  wend  their  way, 
No   social  rite,   nor  youth-enlivening  ball 
Cheered  the  grim  silence  of  the  lofty  hall ! 
But  stern,  scarred  veterans  stood,  respectful  stilly 
And  silent  vassals  waited  on  his  will  ! 

I  think   our  hero  did  not   much  regret 
His  promised  bride  and  he  had  never  met ! 
An  union  planned  by  two  ambitious  sires, 
In  the   pledged  pair  but  little  zeal  inspires ! 
So,  when   Count  Rosencrans,  with  courteous  grace 
Urged  the  lad  oft  to  visit  at  his  place, 
(Distant  but  fifty    leagues)— which  rich  in  game, 
Drew  hunters  from  afar  the  sport  to    claim,— 
And  the  Count's  wealth,  though  boundless  as  the  sea. 
Yet  scarcely  matched  his  hospitality. — 
While   many  a  fair  excuse  he  made,  and  sent 


'20  A   SHEAF  OF  ORAIX. 

Polite   regrets,   somehow   he   never   went ! 

Small  wonder,  then,  when   beauty,   wit   and  grace 
United  met  him  in  this  lonely    place, 
This  one  bright  picture   on   a  dead-blank  wall 
Filled  his  young  thoughts;    and  when  soft  night  'gan  fall, 
His   harp,   roused  by  some  impulse   undefined, 
Poured  forth  once  more  its  accents   on  the  wind ! 


SONG. 

Daik  though  the  night  may  be 

Stars  will  shine  brighter, — 
Dark  though  the  ^'v'intry   sea. 

Sails  gleam  the  whiter ! 
Waves  fierce  to  whelm  our  boats 

Lift  them  on  dry  land, — 
Oft  the  wrecked  sailor  floats 

To  some  fair  island  ! 

Man's  wrath  and   willfulness, 

God  makes  to  jjraise  him, — 
Bowed  down  by  sore  distress. 

Heaven's  power  can  raise  him ! 
Hope  be  our  anchor  still 

Though  the  storm  rattle  ! 
To  the  "unconquered  will 

God  gives  life's  battle  ! 

Who  to  himself  is  true 

Need  fear  no  treason  ! 
Honor  and  virtue  too 

Shine  though  in  prison. 
Honor  and  virtue  both 

Are  that  maid's  dower 
Who  yields  her  plighted  troth 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  21 

But  to  Love's  power ! 


Scarce  had  the  echoing  harp-notes  died  away 
When  a  sweet  voice  below  took  up  the  lay; — 
So  strange  yet  natural  did  its  sequence  seem, 
Wilfred  half  thought  at  first  'twas  but  a  dream; 
Yet,  as  he  listened,  felt  with  joy  new-born 
'Twas  the  sweet  songstress  of  the  former  morn  ! 


SONG — Continued  by  the  maid: 


Grandly  the  eagle  soars 

Where  winds  battle  sorest. 
Fiercely  the  lion  roars 

Lord  of  the     Forest ! 
Shame  to  him  if  he  bend 

Neck  to   the  yoking, 
Or   eagle  to   earth  descend, 

Where   ravens  sit  croaking ! 

Knight   should   like   lion  stand, 

Scorning  oppression, — 
Hope   of   his  native   land. 

Shield   of  the   nation  ! 
Knight   should  like   eagle   rise. 

In   high   endeavor, — 
O'er  earthly  mists  that   rise, 

Darkening  ever ! 

Ever   shall  victory 

Perch   on   his  banner. 
Champion   of  liberty, 

Slave  but  to   honor, — 
Ever   in  Woman's   love 

Be   his  rank  regal, 
True  as  the   mated   dove. 

Bold  as  the  eagle  ! 


22  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 


CHAPTTBR  II. 


Xiove  cares  uot  for  conditions :   shady  grove 
And  crowded  town,  alike  have  room  for  Love  ! 
No  wilderness  so  dense,  no  plain  so  bare, 
No  busy  mart,   or   crowded  thoroughfare, — 
No  lordly  palace   hall,  or  queenly  bower. 
No  humble  cottage,  but  hath  felt  his  power. 
No  dingy  garret'  wall,  where  cobwebs  fall 
Festooned  and  dusty  o'er  the  blackened  wall. 
No  prison-cell,  no   dungeon  foul  and  damp 
But  Love  can   light   it  with   his  wizard   lamp ! 
Love  cheers  the  peasant's  toil,  the  monarch's   state,- 
Lifts  up  the  low,  and  levels  down  the  great ; 
Mates  sovereigns  with   serfs, — has  brushed  away 
Barriers  of  caste  since  King  Cophetua's  day  ! 
Love  laughs  at  codes  not  based  on  Nature's  law ; 
Love  bows  to  none  but  God.    The  Creator  saw 
Man's  loneliness,  and  pitied  him ;  and  made 
A  fitting  mate.    In   wealth  of  charms  arrayed. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  23 

Love  took  her  by  the  hand  with  reverent  air, 

And  to  rapt   Adam   led  the   blushing  fair  ; 

Love  taught   his  tongue   to  plead,   and  lit   his   eyes 

With   flres  to  melt   her  heart.     Her  answering  sighs 

Were   Love's  re.sponse  ;  then   Adam,  l)older  grown, 

Inspired   by  rapture   lent  by  Love   alone, 

Clasped  to   his  arms  and   heart  his  new-made   bride 

And  Heaven   was  pleased,  aiid  Love   was  sanctitied ! 

No  marriage   since   is  ratified  above 

Save  man   and   wife   are  joined  by  sacred   Love  ! 


When   noble   youth   and   lovely   maiden   meet 
W^here  all  around  is  painful  solitude, — 

When,   day  by  day  none   other  they  may  greet, — 
When  their  young  hearts  are  in  the  melting  mood. 
And   both  are  heart-free  else,  what  were  the  good 

In  poet  idly  toying  with  the   triith. 
Like   angler  with  his  trout  ?    The   end  is  sure, — 

The   youth  will   love  the   maid,  the   maid   the  youth 
And  'twill   be   so   while  Youth  and  Love   endure. 


They   met  again,   be   sure, — this  youth  and  maid, 

Xn  the  same  place,   beneath  a  yew-tree's  shade. 

One  bright   May  morning,  earlier  than   l>efore. 

By  chance   or   impulse  ;   and,  their  greeting  o'er, 

They  sat  them   down,   in  youth's  informal  way 

And  talked  -of  what,   I   can't  protend  to  say ! 

^Vhat   did    u'<c  talk  about  when   we  were  young. 

Our  gentle   dames  and   we  ?    If  from  the  tongue 

Of  age   or  ugliness  such  nothings  fell 

Doubtless  they'd   charm   us  less  !    Perhaps  'tis  well 

We're   not  too  critical,  or  not  too  wise 

When  young,— or  Love's  bright  glamour  fills  our  eyes, 

Which  conjures  rose-tints  forth   in   dullest   light. 

I   can't   explain,   but   doubt   not,   Love   is   right  ! 


24  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

'Twould  almost  seem  they'd   little  to  discuss. 
Science  was  then   a   babe.     Things  that   to  us 
Are  common  as  the  air,  were  then  unknown. 
No   printed  books   had  they.    The   pair   had   grown 
With   learning  scarce   enough,    between  the   two, 
To   read  and   write  withal.     Schools   then   were   few- 
Then,   scholars   held  the   Earth   a   sea-girt    plain, — 
The   Sun  her   satellite,   who   in   the   main 
Dipped   his   hot  forehead   nightly   in  the  West, — 
Dove   deep,   and  reared  at  morn   his   ruddy  crest 
From  Eastern   seas ;  the   obsequious   starry  host, 
And  the   fair   moon,   now   full,   now   wholly   lost, 
But  lighted   lamps,   in  the   vast  vault  of  blue. 
To  cheer  the   night,   and  guide   the   doubtful  crew. 
When   landmarks   faded   on   the   darkening  shore, — 
Hung  at  great   height    a  thousand  miles   or  more  ! 
No  compass   steered  their  venturous  ships  afar, 
And  with   sure   finger  marked  the   Polar  star  ! 
No   ships,   steam-driven,   plowed   the   distant  main, — 
No  cars   rushed  through  their  towns ;  across  the  plain 
No   lightning   steed,   with   wings   of  Hashing   light 
Dashed  with  the   news;   beneath  the  billows   bright 
No  magic  wire,   through   ocean's  caverns  bore 
Flashes   of   thought  to   Earth's   remotest   shore  ! 
In   war,   the   stoutest  w'on.     No  guns   had  they 
To   strike   a   foeman   half  a   mile   away. 
When   stalwart   Knight   hewed   paths  to  victory 
No  bayonet,   braced  beside  his   foeman's  knee 
Pierced   his   fierce   charger's  breast ;   or  whiz/ing   l)all 
Tumbled   Sir   Knight   in   most  unknightly   fall  ! 
No   half-ton   shell   crushed   in   the   oaken  side 
Of   ship   that   bolstered   Spain's,  or  Denmark's   pride, 
( Then  mighty  on  the   seas) — no  belching  mine 
Dashed   citadel   and   tower  in   fragments   fine ! 
No  treacherous  torpedo  lurked   unseen, 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  25 

To   blow   huge   ships  to  atoms ;   "neatli   the  Kreen 

And  glassy  wave  no  wire   in   ambush   lay. 

Touched    the   charged   reef,   and   rent   its   rocks  away ! 

Their  creeds  were  crude.   They  thought  their  sluggish  bloorl 

( Though   warmed   by    love,    or  stirred  by  angry  mood ) 

Ne'er  galloped  through   their   veins  ;   ( a  .sad   mistake ; 

Their   blood  made   faster   time   ours  can   make ! ) 

Their   Sun   not  then   had   learned   the   artist's   trade, 

Nor  the   swift  Press  to  the   slow   scribe   brought  aid, 

And   scattered   broadcast,   for   her   sons  to   find 

The   gathered   sheaves  of   Earth's   vast   field   of   mind ! 

'Twere   long  to  tell  the  things  they   did  vnt  know, — 
Yet  their  young  world  wagged  on  !  Stout  boys  could  grow. 
And   fair  girls  bloom  ;  and  men  not  all  were  fools, 
Ere   vaunting  Science   framed   her  doubtful  rules. 
Nature  was  teacher  then  ;  and,  taught  by  her, 
Sprang  many  a  poet,  sage,  philosopher  ! 
Men  noted  Nature's  laws,  and  wrote  them  down. 
Which  Science  stole,  and  passed  them  for  her  own  ; 
But  clipped  and  .stretched,  and  shrunk  and  multiplied 
Till  truth,  confused,  oft  lost  her  cue,  and  lied ! 

E.xcuse  digression.     This  was  kindly  made 
To  give  them  time  to  talk  beneath  the  shade, 
The   prisoner  and  the  maiden.     Be  it  known 
They  scarcely  noted  how  the  time  had  flown. 
So  occupied  they  were  !    They'd  much  to  tell. 
Although   forbidden   much ;  and  when  the  bell 
For  noon  aroused  them,  and,  with  sudden   start, 
The  lady,  blushing,  made  excuse  to  part. 
Though  naught  in  words  was  pledged,  'twas  passing  plaim 
'Twould  be  short  parting  till  they  met  again  ! 
She  knew  him  but  as  Wilfred,  and  she  gave 
Ulrica  as  the  name  she  wished  to   have. 
They  met  and  parted  friends.     But  Cupid  knew 
His  trade  thus  early,  and  his  aim  wa-^  true  ! 


26  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

The  i-oguish  archer  saw  them  sitting  there,— 
Got  them  iu  range  and  pierced  the  unwary  pair ! 
They  were  too  thoughtless  then  to  note  the  wound, 
But  to  the  end  of  life  its  scars  were  found ! 

Their  interviews  grew  frequent.    As  the  year 
Donned  her  bright  Summer  robes,  the  guard  austere 
Relaxed  his  rigor,  and   allowed  the  pair 
Long  walks  together  in  the  morning  air. 
At  length,  attended  still  by  guard  and  guide 
Their  friendly  jailor  lent  them  steeds  to  ride, 
On  their  parole  of  honor  ;  yet,  'twas  seen, 
One  sturdy  horseman  of  determined  mien 
Ne'er  left  them  far.     Respectful,  j^et  severe 
He  left  them  free,  but  kept  them  ever  near  ! 

Sweet  were  these  strolls  beneath  the  forest  trees, 
Where  fragrant  pines  breathed  health  on  every  breeze ; 
Through  whose  dark  branches  would  more  brightly  gleam 
The  leaping  waters  of  each  mountain  stream, 
Down  from  the   highlands  tumbling  in  its  glee 
To  join  the  billows  of  the  distant  sea. 
Birds  caroled  in  the  branches  overhead ; 
Beneath,  her  richest  carpet  Nature  spread. 
Fairer  than  graced  the  imperial  divan 
Or  harem  of  the   conqueiing  Solyman ! 

Sometimes  they  slowly  climbed  the  mountain  trail, 
Where   dizzy  heights  o'erlooked  the  wooded  vale ; 
Beneath,   streached  endless  plains  in  deepest  shade, 
Save  where  warm  sunlight  o'er  the  branches  played. 
Afar,  on  cloudless  days,  were  dimly  seen 
The  distant  sea,  and  the  faint  line  between 
Blue  waves  and  bluer  skj^— hid,   here  and  there 
By  peaks,  uplifting  high  their  heads  in  air ! 
Eastward,  half  screened  by  forests  dark  and  grey 
With  distance,  the  Blue  Danube  rolled  away, 
Resistless   toward  the  sea ;     a  ribbon  bright 


A    SHKAF   OF   GRAIN.  27 

It  glittered  in  the  morniug's  early  light, 

But  seen  at  evening,  changing  aye  its  hue, 

Stretched  o'er  the  plain  a  band  of  darkest  blue. 

Thus  bright  doth  Life  in  youth's  fair  morning  gleam, — 

Thus  dark  its  current  doth  at  evening  seem ! 

Far  to  the  West  rose  mountain  ranges   high, 
Snow-crowned,  and  glittering  'gainst  the  azure   sky. 
And  trending  to  the  South;    each  huge  range  wore 
Its  dark-fringed   cape   of  firs;    descending  more. 
The   pine-trees   darkling  stand;    then,   as   we   near 
The  plain,  stout  oak  and  mountain  ash  appear. 
The   maple   here  its  shapely    branches  spreads, 
And  lofty   chestnuts  rear  their  useful  heads; 
Here,  lowly   haws   and  fruitful  plum-trees   grow. 
And  grapes   and  berries   bless  the   plain  below. 

'Tis  thus  with  men  !     Kings,  raised  to   high  estate, 
On  their  lone   heights   shine,   cold  and  desolate; 
Then,  haughty  peers,  ranged  next  below  the  throne, 
In  phalanx  dark,   exclusive   hold  their  own; 
Descending  to  life's  lower  walks,  we  see 
Man  mix  with   man,   regardless   of  degree; 
The  strong,  the  wise,  the  useful,  and  the  good, 
Meet  on  a  plane   of  common    brotherhood ! 

Oft  in  their   rambles,  gazing  toward  the  west, 
A   sigh,   half  smothered,  heaved  the   maiden's  breast, 
And,  checked,  not  silenced,  fell  on  Wilfred's  ear; 
And  oft   his  eyes  surprised  a  starting  tear. 
Brushed  hastily  away.      He  longed  to  ask 
Its  cause,  and  give   himself  the  envied  task 
To  comfort  and  advise  !    Such  wish  was  vain. 
Where   even  questioning  looks  gave   added    pain ! 

They  talked  of  all  things  save  themselves;   the  stream 
Dashing  o'er  rocky  bed;    the   hawk's  shrill   scream; 
The   eagle   circling  overhead;    the   deer 
Roused  from   his  lair,   and  starting,   wild  with   fear; 


28  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

The   chamois"   daring   leap   o'er  crag  and   fen; 
The   prowling  wolf  that,   near   her  rocky   den 
Skulked   with   her   young;    of  music,   minstrelsy,— 
Of   war,   and   battles;    feats  of    chivalry; 
Of  heroes   known   to   fame;    of   lady    bright, 
Saved   by  the   prowess   of   some   gallant   knight. 
And  ever  as  they  talked,   her  glance   would    stray 
And   rest  on  Wilfred   in  a  questioning  way  ! 
•'Who  M'o.s  this   stranger  youth?    Whence   had   he  come? 
What   grave   offense   had   banished   him   from   home  ? 
No   sin   'gainst  Honor,   she  would  gage   her   life  I 
Some   local  feud,  with  which  the   times  were  rife. 
Or   bold   resistance   to   some  tyrant's    power," 
She   thought,   and    stamped    him    Hero    from  that   hour ! 

What   were   his  musings,   as   his  glances  warm 
Dwelt   on   that   lovely   face,   and  graceful    form, — 
Watched   her  bright  eyes,   now  lit   by  feeling's  fire, 
Now  touched  with   pity,   now  with   generous  ire. 
At  tales  of  war,   or   suffering,   or   of   crimes 
Such  as   w-ere   rife   in  those    tumultuous  times; — 
Those   deep,  uufathomed   eyes,  which   met   his   own. 
And  flashed   a   secret   told   by   eyes  alone. 
And  woke,   responsive,   in   his  youthful   breast 
A   passion   scarcely   to   himself  confessed  ? 

Little   he   questioned   what   her  rank   had  been; 
To   him   she  was  a   lady     nay,   a   queen ! 
What  though   she   dwelt  unknown   in   woodland  tower. 
Mid   soldiers'   wives;  and   that   the   chief  in   power, 
The   Captain   of  the   post,   her   uncle   passed. 
His  kindly   wife   her  aunt?     Though   Fate   had   cast 
Her   life   among  the   lowly,  well    he   knew 
No   peasant   maid  was  this !     Where'er   it    grew, 
This   flower   of  regal  grace,  whate'er  its  name. 
Or  where  its  home,  from   no   low  garden  came; 
But.   found  in   royal  grounds,   or   blooming  free 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  '23 

Uiikuowu,   proclaims   its  sweet   uobility  ! 

One   morn,   our  hero,   in   a  careless  way 
Spoke   of   his   armor  that   all  idle   lay 
Or  hung  within  the   hall;  whereat  the   maid 
Begged   him  to   don   it, — and   in  masquerade 
Herself  would  borrow   from   her   uncle's  store 
Some  fitting  garb,  such  as  fair  ladies    wore 
At  tournaments   of  old.     '"She'd   seen,"   she   said, 
■"  Somewhere   within  the  tower,  securely  laid 
In   chest  of  oak,   (some   ancient  grandam's   dower) 
Such  dress   as   might  suffice  to  suit  the   hour; 
Let   him,   then,   arm   himself,   as  warrior  wight, 
With  tall   pkime   streaming  o'er  his   helmet  bright, 
Wear  his  good  sword  at   side, — take   spear  and  shield, 
Hang  axe   at   saddle-bow,   and   to  the   field 
Ride   foi-th,   full   armed  :   their  guardsman  should  purvey 
A    fitting   steed;  they  three   should  wend  their  way 
As  to  the   lists  where  knighthood  wins   renown. 
Where  Valor   fights,   and   Beauty  gives  the   crown; 
Where    he,   an   errant-knight,   a  lance   might  break, 
For  knighthood's   honor  and   fair  lady's   sake  ! " 

Laughing,   but  not  ill-pleased,  the    youth  con.sents. 
And,  like   Achilles   hastening  to  his  tents 
To   arm   him   for  the   field,   that   fateful   day 
Which   saw  great  Hector  gasp   his  soul  away, — 
So  to  his   prison-hall    gay  Wilfred  speeds, 
Bent   more   on   frolic  than   on   knightly  deeds; 

Takes   his   neglected   armor  from   its   place, 

« 

(His  jailor   helping;)   hastes  the   greaves  to   lace, 
The   steel-ribbed  mail  to   clasp;   claps  spur   on   heel. 
And  casque   on   head,   with   cape  of  woven    steel; 
Draws  steel-clad   gauntlet   o'er   each   sinewy  wrist 
Lest,  when   an   erring  saber-stroke   hath  missed 
The   helmet's   shining  mark,   an    awkward  glance 
Lop  the   strong  hand  that  wields  the   sword    or   lanoe. 


30  A   SIIEAF   (5F   GHAIN. 

Then,  barbed   steed   is   brought,   a   mighty  grey, 
Used  for   such  task   on   many   a    tourney  day; 
A  gentle   palfrey,  such  as  ladies  ride, 
With   silken   trappings  decked,   stands  at  his  side, 
Led   by  the   ever-present  guard,  who   plays 
A  squire's  prompt  part;  and,  never  smiling,  says: 
"The  Countess  tarries  near  the  Castle  gate, 
And  I,  her  humble  satellite,  await, 
To  her  fair  presence  proud  to  lead  his  way 
Who  dares  break  lance  in  Beauty's  cause  to-day ! " 
Then  gave  the  knight  his  rein.    Soon,  winding  round 
The  woodland  road,  they  reached  the  open  grouiid 
Beyond  the  Fort;  and  there,  in  mirthful  mood, 
A  lady,  fair  as  birth  and  noble  blood 
And  wealth  of  rich  attire,  and  lofty  mien. 
And  royal  grace  which  v/ell  might  fit  a  queen. 
And  beauty  such  as  seldom  queen  possessed, 
And  noble  soul,  outweighing  all  the  rest, — 
(Fair  as  Heaven's  gifts  could  make  her)  stood  arrayed 
In  all  her  charms,  this  wondrous  mountain  maid ! 

A  velvet  cap    she  wore,  with  jewels  twined, 
From  which  one  snowy  plume  streamed  to  the  wind; 
A  silken  scarf  was  round  her  shoulders   thrown, 
In  easy  folds,  clasped  by  one  gem  alone. 
That  sparkled  on  her  bosom.    It  was  brought 
From  far  Golconda's  mines,— but  rivaled  not, 
(So  Wilfred  thought)  the  brighter  lustre  found 
In  the  sweot  wearers  eyes.     Trailed  to  the  ground 
A  velvet  skirt — and  peeping  shy  between 
Its  folds,  her  dainty  jeweled  shoes  were  seen. 
From  golden  band  at  wrist,  a  whip  was  hung. 
And  at  her  waist  an  ivory  whistle  swung, 
Worn  by  fair  riders  of  that  troublous  day. 
To  sound  alarm  if  danger  crossed  their  way. 

Long  looked  they  when  they  met,  nor  strove  to  hide 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  31 

The  glow  of  pleasure,  and  the  flush  of  pride 

They  felt  at  meeting;  and  the  rapturous  thrill 

Of  mutual  admiration,  sweetened  still 

By  sense  that  each  was  pleased !    With  courtly  air 

The  knight  lifts  to  her  seat  the  waiting  fair. 

Then  movints  his  steed,  and  with  the  stalwart   guide 

They   move  in  state  toward   the  mountain   side,— 

Their  goal   a  level   space   high  up   the   hill 

Where   oft  the  three  had  rested.    'Twas  her  will 

The   lady   said,   that   there   the   lists  should   be. 

— In  truth  it  suited   well.     A    canopy 

Of  branching  pines  o'erhung  a  grassy  mound, 

Whence  lookers-on  might  view  the  tourney-ground. 

Beneath,  stretched  wide  a  level,  treeless  space 

Girt  in  by  rocky  ledge.    It  seemed  a  place 

Formed  by  man's  art  in  some   primeval   day,— 

An  amphitheatre   in   half   decay. 

Built  centuries   ago.     It    was   a  spot 

Known  by  the   soldiers   as  the   Wizard's   Grot, 

From  darksome  cavern  near, — whence,  legends  told, 

Grim  ghostly  knights,  beneath  the  moonlight  cold, 

Rode  forth  atilt,— while   on  the  mound  were  seen 

Phantoms  of  lord   and  lady,   king  and  queen, 

Cheering  with  upraised   arms   and   hollow  shout, 

While   spectral  marshals  waved  their  wands   about! 

Little    did  Wilfred  and  Ulrica  heed 
Such  idle  tales.     They   added  ze.st   indeed 
To  the  mock  pageant.    Soon  they  reached  the  ground. 
And   she   among  the   rocks   some   laurel   found. 
And   twined  a    crown-like     wreath;     then  took   her  place 
On  the   raised  throne,  and  with  a  queenly  grace 
Summoned   the   knight   to  arm   himself,   and  break 
A  lance  for  country,  king,  and  lady's  sake  ! 

Wilfred   advanced,   with   mock-heroic  air. 
Reined   his   stout  steed,  and  paused   respectful   there, 


32  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN'. 

His   plumed   crest   bowed, — while  she,  with  gracious  pride, 

Bound   lady's   favors  at  his  helmet's   side, 

Then  bade   him  forth  to   battle   for  the   right. 

And  win  the   crown   decreed   to  victor  knight ! 

The   grim   old   marshal   hands   him   spear   and   shield, 

Then  waves   his  wand   and  bids   him   to  the  field ! 

The   knight,   restraining   laughter  as   he   may. 

Sets  spear  in   rest,   salutes   his  lady  gay, 

Sends   loud   defiance   from   his  bugle's  throat. 

And   waits  an   answering  foe  !     The   stirring  note 

Had   ceased   to   echo;    and  the   bashful   knight 

Blushing  to   find   himself  in   awkward   plight 

Pitted  'gainst   nothing,   pondered,   sore   perplexed. 

As  all   men   have   at  times,   "What  do  we   next  ?" 

And  on   his  queen  inquiring  glances  cast, — 

When,   fierce   and   sudden   rang  a   bugle   blast 

From  the   dark   cavern's    mouth!      Long,   loud,   and  bold 

The  unseen    bugler  blew;    and  straight,   behold 

A   stalwart  warrior,   armed  from   head  to  heel, 

Rides   slowly  forth;   his   casque   of  burnished   steel 

Dazzles  the   eye;   upon   his   ample   breast 

Bright   armor  shines;    his  lance   is  couched   at   rest ! 

Though  his  barred  visor    Wilfred   can   descry 

The   baleful  lightnings  of  a  flashing  eye 

Angry   and  dark.      Above,   a  sable  plume  • 

Fits  the   dark  trappings,   and  the   sullen  gloom 

His  bearing  shows;    his  steed,  coal-black   and   strong, 

Paws  with  impatience,  prancing  slow  along 

Reined   by  a   sinewy  hand,  and  takes  his  way 

To  where   an   opening  'mong  the   bowlders  grey 

Gives   entrance  to  the   lists.     He   halts  to   throw 

A    hasty  glance  upon  his  wondering   foe, 

Then,   spurring  to  his   place,  with   lowered  lance. 

In   silence  waits  the   signal  to   advance ! 

Wilfred   was  brave.      His  courage   calm   and   high, 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  33 

Ne'er  blenched   at  foe   befoi-e  !     He   scarce   knew   why, 
But  superstitious  terror  and  surprise 
A  moment   paled   his   cheek  and   dimm^ed  his  eyes ! 
Well  was  it  then,  his   dauntless  guard  stood  by 
And  charged   him,   by   his  knightly   chivalry 
To  rouse   himself !     ''This   is  no    spectre   foe, 
But  mortal,  like   yourself !     Too  well  I  know 
That  steed  and  rider  both,"  the  grim  guard  said.^ 
'And  wish  them  both,  what  you  have  guessed  them,  dead 
And  turned  to  ghosts  indeed !    Then  rouse  thee,  knight ! 
Thy  life,  thy  honor,  hang  upon  this  fight ! 
Thy  lady's  fate  ! — ah,  voir  I  see  thee  start ! 
I'll  trust  thee  now !  act  but  a  knightly  part, 
And  thou  shalt  conquer !    To  thyself  be  true ! 
I'll  to  my  post, — God  speed  thee,  and  adieu  ! " 

The  marshal  sounds  the  charge;  the   knights  advance, 
Spur  their  tierce  steeds  and  poise  the  fateful  lance; 
With  thundering  crash  they  meet  in  swift  career. 
The  riders  reel,  and  splintered  is  each  spear. 
But  neither  falls.     His  sword  the  stranger  drew. 
And  sprang  to  attack  his  enemy  anew, 
'Gainst  tourney  rviles.     Then,  prompt,  the  marshal  spurred 
His  horse  between;   but  ere  his  voice  was  heard 
A  scream  of  terror  rose;  and  turning  round 
They  saw  Ulrica  struggling  on  the  mound, 
Dragged  by  two  rvifflans  thence,  with  brutal  force 
To  where  a  thii-d  led  up  a  saddled  horse. 
Destined  for  such  fair  freight !     But  she  was  young, 
And  fear  lent  strength  to  struggle,  and  her  tongue 
Shrieked  loud  for  help,  and  called  on  Wilfred's  name  ! 
Swift  to  the  rescue  knight  and  guardsman   came 
As  steeds  could  rush.    His  sword  fierce  W^ilfred  drew 
And  at  one  blow  the  foremost  ruffian  slew; 
But  ere  his  arm  won  back  the  reeking  blade 
A  ringing  sword-stroke  on  his  helmet  played 


M  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Aimed  fiercely  from  behind  !     The  stranger  knight 
Had  followed  fast,   and  joined  the  unequal  tight. 
Well  chanced  it  then  his  blow  took  slanting  course 
Else   it   had   cleft   his   skull.     Its   erring   foi'ce 
Averted,  glanced  and  gashed  his  charger's  side, 
Drew  from  the  cruel  wound  a  crimson  tide, 
And  made   him   wild  with   pain.     He   reared   him    high, 
And  wheeling,   swiftly  brought   his  rider   nigh 
To  his  fierce  foe.    Then  face  to  face  they  met. 
And  broadsword  clashed  on  broadsword  reeking  yet 
With   blood   of  man  and  beast.     Like   iron   hail 
Blow  after  blow  fell   fast  on   ringing  mail, 
Till  Wilfred,   rising,   dealt  a  mighty   stroke. 
When  at  the   hilt  his  treacherous  weapon  broke  ! 

The   exultant   foe  beheld   his   loss,   and   wheeled. 
Tossed  to  the   earth  his  now  unneeded  shield, — 
Laughed  a  low,   scornful   laugh,  and  taunting  said; 
"Look  now  thy   last   on   earth -thy   days   are   sped!" 
Grasped  with   firm   hand   his   hilt,  then    forward    pressed 
And  aimed  a  fearful   blow   at  Wilfred's  crest  ! 
But   Wilfred  quailed  not !     An.swer  made   he   none, 
But  backward  reined   his  steed,  the    blow  to  shun, — 
Then  grasped  his   heavy   axe   at   pommel    hung, — 
High   o'er   his   head  the   ponderous  weapon  swung, 
Dashed    back  the   sword  that  barred  its  downward  course 
And  crashing  onward  with   resistless   force 
Pierced   helmet,   skull,  and  brain !     A   stifled   moan, — 
A   hea\Tr  fall  to   earth, — a  dying  groan, — 
A   living   mortal   changed  to   lifeless  clod, — 
A   sin-stained   spirit   sent  to  mieet  its   God  ! 

Short  space  had  Wilfred  for  sad  thoughts.    He  turned 
Toward  the   low  moand,   and  at  a  glance   .soon   learned 
That  work  was   still  to  do.     His   faithful   guard 
1  Matched   'gainst  his  ruffian  foe,   had   pressed  him  hard 

And   borne   him  to  the   ground;    his  cries  for  aid 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  35 

Brought  the  third  villain,— he   who   fronx   the  glade 

Led  up  the   saddled   horse.     He   left  the    steed 

And   ran  to   help   his  comrade   in   his  need. 

The  guardsman   knew   not   of  his  second   foe, 

Still  grappling  with  the  first;    a  treacherous  blow 

Had   slain   him  there,    had   not  Ulrica  sprung 

And   on  the   upraised  arm   tenacious   hung, 

And  shrieked  for   aid.     This  Wilfred   saw  and   heard. 

And  leaping  from   his   horse   without   a   word 

Rushed  to  her  rescue.    Little  time   I  ween 

Had  the  doomed   wretch  to    pray !    Scarce    had  he   seen 

The  striding  shadow  of  his  vengeful  foe. 

Ere,  neath  the  axe  his  severed  head  lay  low ! 

Short   work  'twas  then  for  knight  and  squire  to  bind 
The   wounded  jjrisoner.     Wilfred  joyed  to   find 
All   scathless   save   himself.     His  faithless   mail 
Through  severed  links  had  let  the   spear  prevail, — 
Not  heeded  then:    but  when  unclasped,  twas  found 
A   cruel  gash  wept   blood  upon  the  ground; 
And   faint  he   sudden  grew.     The  anxious  guard 
Brought   water   from  the   spring;    the   maid    prepared 
Fit  bandage;    then   her   silken  scarf  she   bound 
With  tender  care   his    bleeding  side  around; 
Rejoiced  and   wept  by  turns;    and  fondly  now 
Pillowed   his  head,   and  bathed  his  aching  brow; 
Murmured   fond,   pitjnng  words;    then,   reckless   quite. 
Called  him  her  savior,   hero,  valiant    knight ! 
"No  boon   should  fail   him   that  'twas   hers  to  give; 
Oh,  she   would  gladly  die  that   he  might  live !  " 

Not  strange,  that  when  the  guard  for  help  had  gone, — 
And  the   dear  girl  watched   with  her  knight  alone, — 
While   winds   sighed  gently  in   the   pines   above. 
And  naught   but   Heaven   looked  down    upon    their   love. 
His  drooping  head  on   her  warm   shoulder  pressed, 
While  gratitude  and  pity  filled   her  breast, 


:io  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Their  youthful  lips  should  meet,  aud  taste  the  bliss 
Vouchsafed  but  once,  of  Love's   first   rapturous   kiss ! 

Sworn   lovers  from   that   hour,   I   need   not  tell 
How  tenderly  she  nursed  him,  nor  how  well; 
How  the  whole  v/orld,  of  late   so  roseate  grown, 
Held  but  one  hero,  and  that  one  her  own ! 
How  in  her  waking  thoughts,   or  happy   dreams, 
That  hero  lover  ever  present  seems,— 
Gilds  her  dull  life,— -lightens  her  daily  care,— 
Lives  in  each  hope,  and  breathes  in  every  prayer  ! 
Nor  need  I  write  for  novel-reading  maid 
Or  amorous  yoiith,  the  tender  nothings  said,— 
Those   sweet  low  words  that  half  their  meaning   take 
From  lexicons  which  love  and  passion  make ! 
Nor  need  I  tell,  while  fair  Ulrica's  art 
Healed  Wilfred's  side.  Love's  arrows  filled  his   heart; 
That  in  his  after-years,  till  life's  dim  even 
Those  happy  hours  seemed  foretaste   sweet   of  Heaven; 
Those   prison  walls  with  its  blest  mansions  vied, 
With  one  dear  angel  ever  at  his  side ! 

But  I  digress,— 'tis  my  besetting  sin. 
The  soldiers  came  at  length,  and  brought  them  in, 
The  li^'ing  and  the  dead.    The  wounded  knave 
Called  for  a  priest,  and,  part  his  soul  to  save. 
And  part  his  body  from  the  hangman's  noose. 
Told  his  brief  tale,  garnished   with  oaths   profuse. 
And  curses  on  his  luck,  and  on  the   knight 
Who  killed  his  "pals",  and  whipt  them  in  the  'fight: 

"Our  master  was  the  bold  Count    Constantine, 
Dead,  now,  you  see,  God  rest  him !    and,  in  fine, 
The   Count  admired  the   lady  of  the   play 
That    came   off  in  the   mountains  yesterday ! 
Her  sire  denied   his   suit,  as  did  the   maid. 
And  sent  her  off  in  hiding,   part  afraid 
The   lawless  Count  might   pounce,  and  seize  his  dove, 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  37 

And  part,  that  he   had   chosen  another   love 

For  his  unwillinj^  daughter.     Let  that   pass; 

Small  care   have    /  who   wins   the   silly  lass  ! 

We  tracked   her   for  the   Count,   and   found  her   here 

Snug  quartered  in  the  Fort.    By  skulking   near 

We  saw  the   maiden  much   consoled,  good  sooth. 

By  horseback   rambles   with   a  strapping  youth  ! 

This  word   we   brought   our  master,   and   he  swore 

He'd  join   in   their  next   ride !     The   day  before, 

The  lad,  the  lady,  and  their  guide   had  passed 

In   loitering  near  the   Grot.     We  came   as   fast 

As  steeds  could  gallop;    but   scant  time   we   found 

To  hide  us   in   the   thicket,   ere   the   sound 

Of  tramping  horses  told   our  game   was   nigh; — 

(Easy  to   find,    I  »ut   hard  to   bag,  say  I  !  j 

What    freak  of  fancy  sent   her   in   such   dress, 

And   he   in   armor,   is   beyond  my  guess ! 

The   Count,   our   master,   bade  us  take   the    wood, 

Himself,   who   came   full-armed,   low  crouching   stood 

Within  the   cavern,   ready   at  the   word 

To  sally  forth,   and  when  his   horn  we  heard 

We  three  should   rush  to   carry  oif  the   maid. 

While  he  o'erthrew  the   others.     I'm   afraid 

The  Devil,  who  through  life    had  stood  his   friend 

Fooled  the   poor  Count  at  last ! — a  fitting  end 

For   wicked  life,  no  doubt !    And,  w^orst,  I   bled 

And  got   no  gold,   nor  will   not,   now    he's  dead  ! 

And  my  two  comrades  killed  !     Small  iise,  I  think, 

Crying  o'er  milk  that   spilt  !    so   pass   the  drink ! " 


38  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 


CHAPTTKR  III. 


Love   is  a  rare   physician.     His  the  art 
To  soothe   each    pain   of  body,   mind   and  heart. 
The   mind   at   rest,   the  wounded   body  thrives; 
His  heart  in  pain,   even  though  the   patient  lives 
'Tis  a  half  life  at  best.    His  pleasures  pall, 
His  spirits   droop,   and    daily  duties  gall; 
Soon  he  grows  weak  and  sad;    slow  lags   his   blood, 
And  fell   disease   waits  on  his   languid  mood. 
Let   prosperous  Love  assert   his  genial   force, 
His  quickened   pulses   mark  the   blood's  free  course  ; 
Health   rides  triumphant   as  its  tides  rise  high 
And  patients   live,   whom   doctors   doom   to  die  ! 

'Twas  thus   with  Wilfred, — for  an   ugly  wound 
The   surgeon   'ueath   his  severed  corselet   found. 
The  leech  did  what  his  scanty  skill  could  teach, 
But  Love  stood  by,  and  proved  the  abler   leech ! 
The  body,  only,  taxed   the   surgeon's   art. 


A   SHEAF   OF  GRAIN'.  39 

But   Love   plaj-ed   doctor  to  the   mind  aud   heart ! 

No  cooliiifif  draught  distilled    from   herb  or   root 

Matched  the   sweet   soothing  of  Ulrica's   lute ; 

No  stimulant  the   surgeon   could   devise 

Roused   like   warm  glances  from   those  bright  blue   eyes ! 

Her  radiant   smiles  flashed  sunshine  through  the  gloom, 

And   warmed   and  brightened  up  the   darkened  room. 

Thus  health   returns   beyond  the   surgeon's   hope, 

When   Youth  and   Love  with   wounds  aud   sickness  cope  ! 


One   morn,   in   dreamj^  mood   as  Wilfred   lay. 
And  watched  the   opening  of  a  summer's  day. 
In  reverie  steeped,   on  his   pleased  ear  there  fell 
The  accents  of  a  voice   he   loved   full  well ; 
The  words  were   simple,   but   their  every   tone 
Welled   from   the   heart,   and  sank   into   his   own  : 


SONG. 


Wake,   Sir  Knight !  The   dawn   is   here ; 

Jove   to   Earth  hath   kindly  sent   her ; 
Night   lies  dead   upon   her  bier, — 

Owls  and  wolves   alone   lament   her ! 
Rise,  the   Sun   ascends   his  throne 

Tips  with  gold  the  pine-trees  waving. 
Health   on   every   breeze  is  blown. 

Sweet   for   healing,   strong  for  saving ! 

Leave   the   dark  Plutonian   shore  ; — 

Pass   from    black   Night's   baleful   shadow, — 

Walk  forth   where   the   day-beams   pour 
Golden   floods   o'er   hill   and   meadow ; 

Where   the   wild   V^ird  sings   his  lay, — ■ 

Where  the   deer  bounds  up  the   mountain,- 


40  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Where  the  troutlets  leaping,   play, 
Flashing  in  the   sunlit  fouutaiu  ! 

Wake.  Sir  Invalid,— come  foi'th ! 

Let  my  helpiuf?  arm   sustain   thee ! 
Though   its   strength  be   little   worth 

It  may   soothe  the   v^ouuds  that  pain   thee, 
Happy  were  its  owner's   lot 

All  thy  cares   should   rest  upon   her, 
Till   thy   bonds  were   all  forgot — 

Save  those  that   bind   to  Love   and   Honor ! 

Such   the  bond   "twixt  thee   and  me, — 

Chain   no   human  power  can   sever ; 
Bond   that   holds,   yet  leaves   us   free,  / 

Tie  that  binds  our  souls   ^^el£S^" 
God,   our  Maker,  wrought  the   chain, 

Linking  hearts   in  true   love   plighted ! 
Art   of   man   shall   strive   in  vain 

To   break   the   links   His   hand   united  ! 

Poets   have   sung  of  Pleasures,— joJ^s   of  Sense, 
Of  Health,— of  Peace,— of  Wealth,    of  Competence; 
Pleasures  of   Hope   engage   one   poet's   strain. 
While   Memory's  joys  court   not   the   muse   in   vain ; 
Imagination's  joys   some   bai-ds   rehearse, — 
Even   Melancholy   boasts  her  doleful  verse ! 
Still   hath   not   Poet   sung  one   tuneful  word 
To  make   the  joys   of   Convalescence   heard ! 

Hail,  Convalescence  then !  thou  heavenly  Maid 
Who   from   the  bright  empyrean   to   the   shade 
Of  Death,   or  grim   Disease,   dost   wing  thy   flight, 
And  lead   us   back   to  life,  to   hope,  to   light ! 
Hail,   Goddess   of  the  Sick  !  who   takest  the   hand 
Of  the   prone   sufferer,  and   dost  bid   him   stand ; 
Then,   lead'st   him   forth   where   blessed   sunshine   lies. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  41 

O'er  shilling  fields,  where  with   weak  steps   he   tries 

His  loug-uuused   limbs,   and  joys  to   find 

His  muscles  yet  obey  the   master-mind ! 

Earth,   air  and   sky  conspire   each   sense   to   bless : 

Nature  ne'er  woi-e  before   such   gorgeous   dress  ! 

He   sniffs  the   breeze,  -tis  redolent  of  flowers, — 

He  seeks  the   wood^tis  filled   \vith   fairy   bowers; 

The   waves  that  gently  wasli  the    pebbly  shore 

Through   his  charmed   sense   delicious   languor   pour ! 

How  high  the  mountains   loom. — how   huge   and  grand 

The   sturdy  monarchs   of  the   forest   stand ! 

Never  was  turf  so  green,  or  sky  so   blue, — 

Never  seemed   life   so   sweet,   or   friends   so   true  ! 

Now   appetite   returns,   with   growing   powers, — 

The   immortal  gods  ne'er  tasted  food  like   ours ! 

How  sweet  our  sleep,  how  bright  our  wakings   seem, 

Aud   both  but  pliases  of  a  happy  dream  ! 

Then   let   kind   Heaven   but   add   one   other  charm, — 

Let  one   but   lean   on   Love's  sustaining  arm  ;— 

Let   his   eye   rest  on   her   his   heart   holds   dear, — 

His  ears   drink  in  those  tones   he   loves   to   hear ! 

Together  let  them  walk,   or   sit,  or  stand 

'Neath   shady  grove,   or   on   old   Ocean's  strand, — 

Warmed   by  the   sun,  cooled   by   the   evening  breeze, 

Lulled   by  the   waves,   or   screened  by  friendly  tx-ees, — 

What  j-outh,   what   maid,   from   Adam's   day  to  this 

Enjoyed   in   perfect  health   such   perfect  bliss  ? 

Let  not   Hygeia  then   contemptuous  frown 

When   pale-faced   Convalescence   claims    a   crown  ! 

With   Health   restored,   come   Duty,  Toil,   and   Care. 
We  miss  the   sympathy   we're   used  to  share, 
Kind  tribute  to   our  suffering,  hourly   heard 
In   softened  tone,   in  fond  or   pitying  word ; 
And  dull  Routine,  long  banished  from   our   sight, 
Crowds   in     his   face,   and   Business  claims   his   right  ! 


42  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Thus  did  our  lovers  bask  in  Pleasure's  rays 
Through  those  too  brief,  too  happy  Summer  days, 
To   find  at  last,  as  thousands   had  before. 
Time  has  few  jewels  in  his  sordid   store ! 
With   health,   reflection   came.     Poor  Wilfred   knew 
His  stern   old  father  well ;   and   soon  there  grew 
A  vague   foreboding   he   could  ill  conceal 
And   dared   not  yet  express.     The  thought  wovild   steal 
Like   cloud   o'er   summer   sky,  to  dim   his   bliss : 
"  How  rude  the  waking  from  a  dream  like  this ! " 
Ulrica,  too — her  frequent   sighs  confessed 
Some   secret  sorrow   hidden  in  her    breast, — 
Sorrow   she   might   not  own,   but  could   not   hide. 
Which   damped   her  joy  even   by  her  lover's   side ! 
In   her   frank   eye,  unused  to   aught  like  art, 
,  He   oft   surprised  a  tear, — and   she   would   start 
From  painful  reverie,  and  essay  to  smile, 
But   her  pure   nature,  innocent  of  guile 
Shone   through   her   saddened  eyes.     What  could  she  do 
To  evade   Love's  searching  glances !    W^ell  he  knew. 
Deep  in  her  heart  were  griefs   he  might  not   share. 
Or   learn   their  cause,  though  iJe  reigned  monarch  there  ! 

And  yet,   each   knew  the   other  longed  to   tell 
But    was  restrained  by   Honor ;  and   'twas  well 
Both   lives   held   secrets  !     Friendship   takes  offense 
When   friends   seem   loth  to   pay   our  confidence. 
Yet  mutual   faith   they   shared.     By  each   'twas   known 
They  guarded   others'   secrets  with   their    own. 
Thus  much   they   freely  told,— that   adverse   fate 
Strove   still   to   force   on   each   an   unloved   mate ; 
And  vows  they  interchanged,   through  good   and   ill 
While   life  remained,  they'd   keep  their  troth-plight  still ; 
The  cell,  the  dungeon,  and  the  festering  chain, — 
E'en   Death   itself  might  try  their  love   in  vain! 
Thus  high   respect   and   faith   from   trials  spring,— 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  43 

And  Love  is  sanctified   by  Suffering ! 


We  left  our  wounded  rogue  safe  in  his  cell, 
Within  the   fortress ;   soon  the   wretch  got   well, 
And  begged   for  open   air.     They  brought   him,   bound, 
With  ball  and  chain,  to   stump   the   area-ground; 
From  thence,   outside  the  gates,  where  guards  patrolled; 
And  so  it  came  to  pass,  one  evening  cold. 
As  the   swift  year  his  varjnng  months   rolled   round, 
And   Aiitumu's   nuts  and   ripened   fruits  were   found 
Where   summer's  flowers  had  bloomed ;— when  early    frost 
Brought   back,   fourfold  the   brightness  they  had  lost. 
To  cast  a  glamour  over  wood  and  wold. 
And  paint  the   maple's   leaves  with   liquid  gold. 
The  guards   forgot  and   left    him.     Soon   he   spied 
The   favoring  chance,  and,   screened   by  darkness,   hied 
To  thickets  near,   that   skirt   the   streamlet's  shore, 
Filed  off  his  fetters,  and  was  seen  no  more ! 
Swift  as  his  cramped  feet  might,  they  bore   him  far 
Toward  the  West.— and  as  the   evening  .star 
Sauk  'neath  the  trees,   he   found  a   horse,   and   made 
A   break-neck  race  for  liberty !     'Tis   said 
He  rode   his  steed  to  death  ere  break  of  day, 
Then  stole   another,  and  pursued   his  way ! 
Pursuit   was  vain.     Next  day  the   soldiers   found 
The   scamp   had  crossed  the  border   safe   and   sound! 

Soon  through  the  country  round,  the    tidings  spread 
That  the  long-dreaded  Constantine  was  dead, 
Whose  sudden   disappearance,  weeks  before 
Had  stirred  much  comment;    for,   from   shore   to    shore 
The   reckless   Count   and   his   audacious  band 
Ranked   little   less  than   outlaws   in  the   land ; 
And  honest  men   rejoiced  to   hear   his   fate. 
Whose   life  was  constant  menace  to  the  State. 

Heir  to   an   honored   name,— son   of  a  sire 


44 


A    SKEAF   OF   GRAIN. 


Who,  wlieu    tbe   Mongol   came,   with   sword  and   fire, 

When   o*er   fair  Hungary's   plains   his  legions   spread 

And  from   his  front  the   affrighted   peasants   fled. 

At  dead   of  night,   through  the   dense   forest's  shade 

Cut   bloody  pathway   to   his  monarch's  aid, 

Cheered  the  great   Belas'   troubled   heart,   and   led 

Tho   charge   when   from   their  spears  the   invaders   fled,- 

Bela  the  Wise,   miglitiest  of  all   his   line 

Since  great   Arpad,   far  toward  the   northern    Rhine, 

And   o'er  Italia's   plains   spread   near  and   far 

The   fame   of  the    all-conquering   Magyar! 

What  time   old   Almos,   (leader  of  the   bands 

That   fought  their   bloody  way  from   Eastern   lands,) 

Conquered   by    age,— his  glorious  mission   done, 

Left   sword   and   sceptre   to   his   mighty   son  ! 

Fate   doth   her  bitterest  cup  to   mortals   l)ring 
When   worthless   sons  from   worthy   parents   spring,— 
When   o'er  fair  lives,   wliose   youth  gave    promise   high, 
Rise  clouds  of  guilt  to   blot  fair   manhood's   sky! 
Scarce   had   brave   Coustantine   to   honored   rest 
Sunk   down,  by  grateful   King  and   country   blest. 
When   the   young  Count,  glad  to   be   free   at   last 
From  wholesome  guidance,  to  the   wild  wands  cast 
All   semblance   of   restraint!     His   passions  wild 
Ungoverned.   urged   him   on.     A   wayward   child 
He'd  chafed  at   all   control ;   even   as   a   Jad 
He   sought   his   comrades   'among  the   wild   and   bad; 
And  when  to  wayward  youth  he  quickly  grew, 
Strong,  like  his  sire,— well  skilled  in  warfare,  too,— 
Brave,  but  revengeful;    fierce,  and  dark  of  mood,— 
Shunned  by  his  peers,— feared  by  tlie  pure  and  good;— 
'Twas  said  by  some  who  knew,  the  bitter  smart 
His  crimes  inflicted  broke  his  father's  heart ! 

His  death  caused  little  sorrow  in  the  land; 
Yet  .some  there  were,  old  followers  in  his  band, 


A   SIIEAF   OF  GRAIN.  45 

Whose  only  god  was  gold,— rogvies  who  for  pay 

Would  sell  their  souls,  aud  risk  the  Judgment-day,— 

Such  scoundrels  took  offense,  and  raised  a  cry 

For  vengeance  on  his  slayers;  and  so  high 

The  clamor  rang  among  the  lawless  sort 

The  wary  Captain  'gan  to  put  the  Fort 

In  shape  to  meet  attack;    for  well  he, knew 

The  desperate  daring  of  the  border  crew ! 

His  garrison  was  small, — perhaps  a  score 
Of  spearsmen;    crossbowmen  as  many  more; 
A  few  with  axes  armed,  whose  crushing  weight 
Might  rend  a  casque  or  batter  down  a  gate; 
A  dozen  serfs  or  more;  some  soldiers'  wives. 
Who  shared  their  toils,  aud  cheered  their  lonely  lives. 
Such  was  the  meager  force;   but  walls  of  stone, 
And  watchful  guards,   their  weakness  might  atone. 
And,  if  beleaguered,   hold   a  foe   at   bay 
T'ill  succor  came;    and   so,  without    delay 
Axes   'gan   ring,   and   shapely  trees  to  fall. 
And   beams  to  bar  weak  gate  or  damaged   wall 
Were   carried  through   the   doors;    aud   still,   within 
Sharp-ringing  anvils  made   a  constant   din; 
Stout  bolts  were  forged,— fresh  rivets  shaped  and  driven. 
Armor   repaired,   whose   links  the   sword  had  riven; 
New  spear-heads  set;  bows  strung;  dull  axes  ground, 
And  countless  little   hiclies,  never  found 
Till  needed,  were   supplied;    aud  the  dull    look 
Which   slow  routine  gives  to  men's  faces,  took 
A  fiercely  joyous  turn.    With  what  delight 
The   human  tiger  scents  a  coming    fight ! 
We   prate   of  reason,   sense,   philosophy, 
Religion,   culture,   science, — all  that  we 
Can  boast   above  the  brute;    yet,   do   but   show 
Where   carnage   stalks,   and   human  blood  doth   flow, 
Where's  your  meek  Christian  then  ?    Where,  boastful  sir, 


<6  A   SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

Your  sage,  your  savant,  your    philosopher  ? 

All  merged  in   maddened  brute ;    or,   seen  at   all, 

Their  art  but  serves  to   raise  a  ruffian  brawl 

To  scientific  slaughter,  when  the  voice 

Of  agony  shrieks  vainly,   mid  the   noise 

Of  clashing  arms,  and  the  deep  cannon's   roar. 

And   squadrons  thundering  fast  o'er  fields   of  gore  ! 

Since   Cain  was  made   a  king  in   distant  Nod, 
Each  butcher  of  mankind  has  ranked  a  god ! 
We  who  to   Christian  love   lay  doubtful  claim 
Greet   with   hurrahs   each  bloodstained   warrior's    name. 
Be   he   a  treacherous   friend,  a  ruthless    foe, 
A   haughty  tyrant,   or  a  trickster  low, 
A   sacrilegious  wretch,   or  all   in  one 
Like  that  great   hero-god.   Napoleon ! 
Prove  that   he   hath   his  tens  of  thousands   slain, — 
That  trampled  nations   'neath   his   feet  have   lain, — 
No  right  too   sacred  for   his  fierce   attack. 
No  crime  so  foul  his  conscience   held  him  back,^ 
Be   sure   his  name   will   sound   on   every   tongue, 
While   human   praise   by   human   lips  is   sung ! 

For  men  love   war  !     A  common   impulse  calls 
The   great  to   battles,   and  the   low  to  brawls. 
We   read   of  victories,   and  our   blood   is   fired 
With   martial  zeal.     Our   souls  with   wrath  inspired, 
We  fight  with  those   who   fight;    we   kill,  we  wound, 
And   strut  victorious   o'er  the   blood-soaked  ground, — 
Then  join  to   shout  the   conquering   Chieftain's    name 
Ourselves  mock  partners  of  his  toils  and  fame  ! 
How  fierce  the  charge  ive  made  on  Wagram's  ridge. 
How   dashed   tee  on   to   death   o'er  Lodi's   Bridge  ! 
How   fought  we   at   Marengo,   ah !   how  few 
Of  US   brave   guards   survived  dark  Waterloo ! 
Small   wonder,   then,   that  to   our   latest    days 
We  join  to   shout  some  great  Napoleon's  praise  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  47 

Useless  to   moralize  !     I  told  before 
How  the  'scaped  rogue  the  Count's  adveuture   bore 
And  published  to  the  world.    Of  course,   he   lied, 
And  laid  the  blame  all  on  young  Wilfred's  side;— 
Told  how,   while  hunting  in  the  hills,  a  horde 
Of  ruffian   soldiers  from  the   fortress   poui-ed 
And  compassed  them   about.     Sooner  than   fly 
Themselves  and  their   brave   leader  chose   to  die;— 
How  a  false  knight  who  had  them  in  his  power 
Slew  him  unarmed;    how,   wounded,   in  the   Tower 
Himself  for  weeks   had   lain,   and   noted  well 
Some   marvels  there   which   he   had  '.scaped   to  tell;— 
Hinted  of  wealth   secreted  in  that   hold,— 
Of  rich  apparel,   plate,   and   chests   of  gold 
Stored  in  its  cells;    of  lady  there   confined. 
Who  seemed  a  captive   princess,  whom  'twere  kind 
To   rescue  and   set   free;    and   he   for    one 
Would  risk   his  life  to   help  the   adventure   on  ! 
The   murderous   knight  who  basely   slew   his  lord 
Was   some   foul  traitor  whom,   for   rich   reward 
They  hid  and  harbored  there,— whom  they    might  bring 
To  answer  for  his  crimes    before   the   King, 
Could  they  but  take  the   Fort  !     He  lied   so   well. 
And  touched  so   many  strings  that,  truth  to  tell, 
'Twas   pity   art  like   his  was  lost  to  view, 
That    might  have  graced  another  Richelieu ! 
Suffice,  he  gained  his  ends.    A   motly  force 
Soon  gathered  in  the   hills,— made  up,   of  course 
Of  rogues  and   outlaws  mostly,  who   for   hope 
Of  plunder  would   have   dared  the   hangman's   rope. 
Yet  some  that  met  were  of  the  better  kind, 
Though   to   a   band  of  ruffians   strangely  joined. 
Some  had  old  wrongs  to  avenge— with  some  the  tale 
Of  prisoned  maid  did   o'er   soft   hearts    prevail; 
And   some,  (you   know   such   fools,   and   so   do   I,) 


48  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Went   with   the   crowd,   nor  knew  the   reason  why  ! 

But  knaves  and  fools  count  up  a  goodly  score; 
And  in  Vjriet'  time,  five  hundred  men  or  more 
Marched  down  against  the  Fort.     They  came  by  night, 
And  silent,  hoping  with  the  dav/n's  first  light 
To  win  it  by  surprise.    Ere  yet  they  came. 
Our  brave  old  guardsman  (Hubert  was  his  name,— 
Young  Wilfred's  quondam  'squire)  got  leave  to  scout 
Among  the  hills,  and  spy  the  invaders  out. 
Learning  their  force  and  plans, — a  dangerous  task 
Which  few  would  take  when  urged,  and  fewer  ask ! 
He  knew  the  country  well,^could  find  his  way 
By  secret  mountain-paths  by  night  or  day; 
Planned  to  return  by  morn,  and  sallied  out. 
The  morning  came,  but  not  the  venturous  scout ! 
The  morning  came;    and  with  its  first  faint   blush 
Five  hundred  raiders  made  a  sudden  rush 
On  gate  and  door;  but  gate  and  door  stood  fast, 
Then  from  within  was  heard  a  bugle  blast 
Calling  the  troops  to  arms;    and  hurrj-ing  feet 
Tramped  swiftly  to  their  posts.     Then  axes  beat 
On  oaken  gates,  the  quick  blows  raining   hard 
Till  iron  bolts  and  stubborn  timbers  jarred, 
And  splinters  flew  apace.    Then,  from  o'erhead 
Huge  rocks  'gan  fall  and  crush  the  axemen  dead. 
Or  dash  them  to  the  ground.     The  living  fly 
And  drag  their  wounded   comrades   back  to  die, 
While  flights  of  arrows  gall  them  as  they  go, 
Sent   from   the   roof   by   many  a  forceful   bow; 
And  taunting  shouts  which   worse   than   arrows   sting, 
While   answering  curses   make   the  welkin    ring ! 

Retired  a  space,  the   baffled   foe   are   seen 
To  meet  in  hasty  conclave  on   the  green. 
Then  rush  toward  the  wood.    Soon,  axes  ring 
On  sturdy  ash  and   oak,   and  headlong  bring 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN'.  49 

To   earth  two   crashing  trees;    with   speed   they    trim 

Their  rugged  sides,  and  lop  each  leafy  limb; 

The  severed  trunks  on  levers  stout  they  bear 

Toward  the  Fort,  and  hastily  prepare 

As  engines   of    assault.     On  either  side 

A  score   of  brawny   rogues  the  weight   divide. 

As    toward   each   massive  gate  the   timbers  twain 

With  equal  speed  move  slowly  o'er  the  plain. 

Beside,   walk  twenty  more,  who   overhead 

Broad  shields  of  tough  bull's-hide  protecting  spread 

'Gainst   arrows   from   the   roof;    some   fifty   more 

With  cross-bows  armed,  their  places  take    before 

To   harass  foes  above,   who  wait  to  throw 

Hugh  rocks  and  timbers  on  the  men  below. 

The  attacking  force  moves  on  with    measured    tread 
Toward  the  gates.     From   battlements   o'erhead 
Arrows  pour  down   like   hail.     The  assailants   wait 
Some  twenty  paces  from   each  threatened  gate. 
Then  with  a  cheer  rush  on !    The  crushing  stroke 
Resistless  dashes  'gainst  the   opposing  oak 
Aud  shivers  it  to  shreds;    then,  mocking    cheers 
From   out  the   Fort   ring  in  their  wondering  ears, 
As,   prompt  to   storm  the  breach,   surprised  they  find 
Each  gate  has  massive  timbers  framed  behind 
Proof  'gainst  all  battering  force  !    With  curses  dire 
The  mob,  twice  baffled,  sullenly    retire. 

By  this  the   sun  had  climbed  the  eastern  sky 
And  hunger  called  for  truce.    A  wood  near   by 
Gave  shade  and  fuel;    in  the  meadows  near 
Grazed  many  a  peaceful  cow  and  fattening  steer, 
The  Fort's  most  cherished  wealth.     Each  soldier's  dame 
Petted  the  kine  from  which  their  butter  came; 
And  well  fed   soldiers  o'er  the   herd  would    pore 
Glad   of  their  commissariat's  fattening  store ! 
Alas  !    nor  generous  cow  nor  pampered  steer 


50  A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN 

Henceforth  shall  at  their  evening  call   appear ! 
Quick  to  the  meadows  rushed  the  hungry  throng, 
Seized  the  fat  kine,  mid  bellowings  deep  and  long; 
Prone  to  the   earth  each  bleeding  carcass  threw, — 
From  quivering  limbs  the  gore-stained  covering  drew; 
Then  on  stout  backs  the  severed   quarters  bore 
Where  blazing  fires  did  their  warm  welcome  roar; 
And  the  mob  dined  like  kings, — and  cared  no  more 
Than  kings,  whose  vested  rights  they  trampled   o'er ! 

Free  dinners  are  long  meals.    Men  make  no    haste 
At  public  feast  to  shorten  their  repast, 
And  'twas  not  every  day  the  rabble  fed 
On  steaks  and  savory  joints;    and  time  thus  sped 
Till,  ere  they  stinted  from  their  revel  high 
The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  western  sky. 

Then  they  held  council — chose  for  general 
A   stalwart  border  warrior,  who,   like   Saul 
Towered  high  above  the  rest; — discussed  at  length 
Their  means  of  storming,  and  the  unlooked-for  strength 
The  Fort  developed;    and,  at  set  of  sun 
Called  for  a  parley  with  the  garrison; — 
Demanded  prompt  surrender;    offered    terms: 
"The   troops  to   have  free  egress  with  their    arms, 
Their  families    and  goods; — all  save  the  knight 
Harbored  within;    also,  a  lady  bright 
In  durance  held;  as  rumored;    save  these  two 
The  brave  defenders  might  free  paths  pursue 
Where'er  them  listed.     For  the  traitor  knight 
Whose  murderous  arms  had,   in  unequal  fight 
At  vantage  slain  the   Count,  the  hangman's    rope 
And  a  short  shrift  was  all  the  wretch  could  hope ! 
Fair  terms  they  gave;    cared    not    more    blood  to  spill." 

The   Fort's   brave  Captain,  of  unflinching  will. 
But  artful  too,   asked  time.    "By  morn,"  he  said 
"He'd  give  them  answer;    asked  what  causes  led 


A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  51 

To  this  bold  breach   of  peace,  so  long  enjoyed 
'Mong  border  neighbors;"    all  his  arts  employed. 
To  lengthen  the  debate  till  favoring  Night 
Drop   her  black  veil,  and  darkness  close  the    fight. 

The  truce  was  granted,  and  its  every  hour 
Improved  to  increase  the  Fort's  resisting  power. 
Some  framed  new  barriers;    some  made  haste  to  bring 
Fresh    stores  of  water  from  the   ample   spring 
That  gushed  in  the  enclosure;    tanks  were  filled 
On  roof  and  tower,  whence  water  could  be  spilled 
On  kindled  fires  below;    more  rocks  were  borne 
Aloft,  to   drop  on  battering  foes  at  morn. 

The  night  was  moonlit.    'Neath  the  tower's  deep  shade, 
Two  messengers  were   sent   in  quest  of  aid, — 
Stealing  at  midnight  through  the  secret  door 
From  out  the   palisades,  described  before. 
To  different  points;    to  Baron  Rupert  one, 
(But  he  was  caught,)— the  other  'scaped  to  run 
Safe  through  the  picket -line, — a  desperate  chance, — 
And  bore  his  message  to  Count  Rosencranz 
Some  leagues  away.    And  thus  the  night  wore  on. 
And  m.en  lay  waiting  for  the  break  of  dawn 
Nursing  their  wrath  through  all  the  peaceful   night. 
To  shed  each  others'  blood  by  Heaven's  first  light  I 
Thus  Man  his  Maker's  handiwork  doth  mar. 
And  call  on  heaven  for  help !    thus  ruthless  war 
With  blood-stained  hands  'gainst  brother  man  we  wage, — 
Thus  kill  and  maim  in  Heaven-defying   rage, 
Yet  look  for  sun  to  shine,  and  dew  to  fall, 
And  Heaven  to  bless  our  deeds  in  spite  of  all! 

At  break  of  day  the   herald  sounds  his  horn. 
And  challenges  the   answer  due  at  morn. 
The  wily  Captain  takes  full  time  to  rise, 
Comes   slowly  forth,  and  leisurely  replies: 
"His  force  is  rather  small;    he   hopes   by  night 


52  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Some  help  he's  sent  for  may  appear  in  sight, 
Much  needed,  by  the  way;    so  he  would  task 
Their  kind  indulgence,  further  truce  to  ask 
Till  such  help  come;    but  if  they  couldn't  wait, 
•Come  in — don't  stop  for  knocking  at  the  gate ! " 

With  equal  courtesy  the  foe  replied: 
"'They  had  some  business  o'er  the  border-side 
Forbade  a  lengthened  stay, — else,  as  the  fare 
Was  good,  they'd  fain  extend  their  visit  there. 
Don't  task  yourselves  to  open  gates,  we  pray, — 
We've  keys  of  fire  your  locks  will  soon  obey ! " 

The  palisades  the  axe-men  quick  surround; 
Its  upright  logs  fall  thundering  to  the  ground 
Exposing  soon  to  view  those  quarters  clean 
Where,  ere  the  fight,  the  soldiers'  wives  were  seen 
Round  cheerful  fires,  intent,  with  busy  care. 
Their  husbands'  food  to  dress,  their  meals  prepare; 
Their  coarse,  thick  cloth  to  weave,  their  wool  to  spin, 
And  warm  hose  knit,  to  case  the  soldiers  in, 
Lest  Boreas,  blowing  fierce  o'er  Northern  snows 
Chill  their  broad  backs,  or  bite  unguarded  toes ! 

Stumbling  o'er  fallen  logs,  the  foe  explore 
^  The  rearward  wall  for  gate,  or  portal-dooi'. 

No  gate  or  door  is  seen.    The  solid  stone 
Defies  attack;    and  soon  the  mob  had  gone 
To  seek  more  vulnerable  points,  or  tried 
What  fire  would  do  to  tame  the  stubborn  pride 
That  laughed  at  axe  and  beam; — but  Fate  just  then 
As  oft  before,  shaped  the  affairs  of  men ! 

Our  rascal  prisoner,  some  weeks  before 
In  prying  round,  had  spied  a  secret  door 
With  hidden  hinges,  and  well-covered  lock. 
Whose  thin  stone  panels  seemed  of  solid  rock, — 
But  seldom  used;  but  whence  could  come  or  go 
A  secret  scout,  unseen  by  watchful  foe. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  5S 

Thither  with  taunting  shouts  the  rascal  hies, 

Points  out  the  door,  and  leads  them  to  the  prize; 

The  axemen  follow  fast, — and  stroke  on   stroke 

Dash  swift  on  shattered  stone  and  splintering  oak.. 

From  roof  and  tower  the   harmless  arrows   fall; 

The  foe   toils  on  regardless   of  them   all, 

For,  borne  by  sturdy   hands,  above   their   head 

They  raise  huge  logs,  from   piles  about  them  spread. 

Which,  leaned  against  the  wall  avert  the  force 

Of  falling  rocks,  and  check  the  javelin's  course. 

Soon,  "neath  their  strokes  the   broken  hinges  fly. 

The   shattered   timbers  in  the   portal  lie, — 

Their  stalwart  leader  springs  to  gain  the  breach, 

Leaps  through  the  entrance,  and    with    vaunting  speech 

Calls  his  men  on !    But  there,  before   him,   stands. 

A   knight  full-armed, — who  in  his   sinewy  hands 

Swings  a  huge   axe.    The  giant   halts,   afraid 

To  face  the  terrors   of  that   flashing  blade; 

But   Honor  bids  him   on;    with  reckless    bound 

He  leaps  wdthin,  and   sinks  upon  the  ground, 

Cloven  through  the  skull.    With  one  expiring  groan 

His  soul  escapes;    his  bulky  body,    prone 

In  the   clogged  doorway  lies.     A   second  springs 

Like  tiger  o'er  the   corpse,  and  madly    flings 

His   life  away ;  the  cruel  axe  again 

Descends,  and  cleaves  his  hapless  head  in  twain  1 

No  other  dares  the  attempt.    Their  leader  dead, 

They   choose  the  rascal  prisoner  in  his   stead. 

Who   bids  them  fire  the   Fort.    The  palisade. 

Would  ample  fuel  yield,  the  scoundrel  said. 

Which,  piled  against  the  wall,  with  favoring  wind 

Would   flre   the  gates,   and   smother  all   behind  ! 

'Tis  their  last  card,  but  'tis  their  strongest  too. 
With  anxious  eyes  the  brave  defenders  view 
The  growing  piles,  and  hurl  from  tower  and  roof 


54  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

'Their  gathered  rocks.    The  foe   stand  yet  aloft, 
Beyond  their  reach,  but  toss,  with  purpose  dire. 
Huge  heaps  against  the  gates ;  then,   sparks  of  fire 
From  flint,  'mong  tinder  struck,   and  fanned  to  blaze, 
Ped  with  dry  twigs,  thin,  fiery  ribbons  raise  ; 
Then  seasoned  wood  to  feed  the  fires  is  brought 
And  soon  the  flames  leap  high  ;  thence,  brands  are  caught 
And    hurled  among  the  heaps,  whence,  dark  and  slow, 
Thick  smoke-wreaths  rise,   and  flames  begin  to  glow. 

"Well  had  the  guards  their  water-tanks  supplied; 
And,  dashing  downward  in  no  stinted  tide 
The  drenching  showers  descend.    The  extinguished  brands 
Sputter  and  smoke  and  die.    But  busy  hands 
Koll  up  huge  logs,  and  rubbish  from  the   wood; 
And  fires  are  started  fresh,  just  where  the  flood 
Will  fail  to  reach;  meantime  a  favoring  wind 
"Springs  up  to  aid  their  work,  and  from  behind 
Drives  the  flames  inward;  while,  with  shout  and  yell 
Like  raging  fiends  that  stir  the  fires  of  hell. 
They  ply  their  ghastly  work;  and  toss,  the  while 
Dry  fuel  on,  and  stir  each  blazing  pile  ! 

Fresh  showers  dash  from  above,  which  deaden  down 
But  fail  to  quench  the  flames ;  and  smoke  is  blown 
Within,  in  stifling  clouds  ;  the  raiders  cheer. 
Pile  on  fresh  logs,  and  count  their  triumph  near ! 

They  cheer  too  loud,  and  ply  their  task  too  well,— 
Else  might  they  notice,  winding  down  the  dell 
Half  hid  by  woody  points,  a  numerous  train 
Of  horsemen  swift  approach ;  who  reach  the  plain, 
Halt  but  to   extend  their  line,  then    sudden,  swoop 
Down  toward  the  shouting  mob !    The  advancing  troop 
Now  first  from  tower  and  roof  the  warders  view, 
Their  bright  spears  glistening,  and  their  banners  blue 
By  stalwart  sergeants  borne,— but  silent  all. 
As  who  would  on  the  unwary  foeman  fall,— 


A  SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  55 

They  quit  their  posts,  and  rush  with  wild  delight 
To  sally  forth  and  join  the  approaching  fight ! 
Wilfred  goes  first ;  he  leaps  forth,  axe  in  hand, 
And  deals  destruction  'mong  the  rabble  band  : 
A  score  of  spearmen  follow  ;  in  their  wake 
Axemen  and  archers ; — and  swift  opening  make 
To  where  the  growing  fires,  by  breezes  fanned 
Threaten  the  gateways.    Here  they  take  their   stand ; 
Some  snatch  the  burning  brands  apart,  and  cast 
Blazing  among  the  crowd ;  with  labor  vast 
Some  heave  the  burning  logs  apart,  and   hold 
The  mob  the  while  at  bay, — till,  grown  more  bold 
Their  bravest  rally,  and  with  shout  and  yell. 
Attack  their   slender  ranks  ;  their  numbers  swell. 
Recruited  from  the  field ;  but,  firm  as  rock, 
Wilfred  and  his   small  force  sustain  the  shock ! 
A  giant's  strength  is  in   his  arms ;   his  blade 
Drinks  deep  at  every  blow.    His  wrath  to  aid. 
And  nerve   his  sinewy  arm,  full  well  he  knows 
The  vengeance  threatened  by  his  gathering  foes ! 
Nanght  but  his  blood  will   quench  the   raging  fire 
That  lights  their  eyes,  and  heats  their  senseless   ire  : 
Or,  worse,  should  venomed  hate  find  fiercer  scope. 
An  ignominious  death  by  hangman's  rope  ! 

Yet  scarce  one  thought  he  gives,  one  care  bestows 
On  his  own   safety.     If  from   brutal  foes 
He  could  his  loved  one  save ; — could  his  st  rong  arm 
Shield  fair  Ulrica  from  all  threatened  harm. 
How  sweet  to  die  for  her,  dear  girl !  and  know 
Her  grateful  tears  o'er  his  low  bier  should  flow ! 
But  should  he  fail, — her  beauty  be  the  prize 
Of  lawless  ruffians !  at  the  thought  his  eyes 
Flash   with  a  dangerous  fire. — and,  swung  on   high, 
That  dreadful  axe  dooms  many  a  wretch  to  die 
His  mercy  else  might    spare  !    Yet  others  take 


56  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Their   places  as  they  fall,  aud  rush  to  break 
The  bristling  line ;  but  Wilfred  hastes  to  throw 
His   spearsmen  into  squares ;  the  twanging  bow — 
Sends   shafts  forth   from  their  midst ;  himself,  at   head 
Of  the  grim   axemen  stands,  and  heaps  of  dead 
Show  how  they  ply  their  trade.     A  ghastly  sight 
When  blood  grows  cool,  and  finished  is  the  fight ! 

But  when  the  blood  is  up — when  in  a  fray 
The   exulting  foe  come  on  in  grim  array, — 
When  the  loud  cannon   shakes  the   embattled  field, 
And  the  long  hostile  columns  stand  revealed 
Where  lifts  the  battle's  smoke  ;  When  shrieking  shell 
And  plowing  shot  their   deadly  errands  tell, — 
Then,  brave  men's  nerves  grow  strong;  then  soft  hearts  grow 
Harder  than  steel,  and  cold  as  mountain   snow. 
Then  throbs  the  quickened  pulse, — bright  flash  the  eyes, 
And  Man  the  Savage  stands  without  disguise ! 
And,  when   in   firm  array  brave  soldiers  stand 
To  guard  their  hearth,  their  homes,  their  native  land, 
Curst   be   the  craven  heart,  the  nerveless   arm 
Would  brave  not  Death,  to  shield  loved  friends  from  harm  ! 

Sudden  upon  their  ears  the  thundering  sound 
Of  charging  squadrons   falls, — and,  turning  round. 
Our  luckless  raiders  see,  when  all  too  late 
The  fell  Avenger,  pitiless  as  Fate 
Swift  on  their  ranks  descend ;  above,  they  view 
An  Eagle,   volant,  on  a  field  of  blue  ! 
Pull  well  that  sign  they  read — each  azure   fold 
Where  the  proud  king  of  birds  his  course  doth  hold 
Triumphant  through  the  sky,  once  waved  in  pride 
When  the  scourged  Turk  fled   o'er  the  border  side  ! 
Had  flaunted  boldly  in  the  battle's  van 
When  from  their  spears  the  foul  Mongolian  ran ; 
Nor  less  defiant  waved,  in  menace  dread, 
When  dark  Rebellion  raised  its  threatening  head  I 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  57 

They  fly  toward   ttie  hills;  in  hot  pursuit 
The  horsemen  follow,  and  the  guards  on  foot 
But  ere   the  sheltering  thickets   they  may  gain 
Down  from  the  hillside  pours  another  train 
Of  mounted  men,  spuning  in  eager  haste 
To  reach  the   plain.     Short  time  the  strangers  waste, 
But,  taking  in  the   bearings  at  a  glance, 
Draw  the  bright  sword,  and  poise     the   glittering  lance, 
Meet  the  retreating  mob,  and  bar  their  flight 
With  waving  blades,  and  spear-points  tipped  with  light! 

Hemmed  in  on  every  side,  the  rabble  pause 
While   round  them  fast  the  glittering  cordon  draws  ; 
Their  rufllan  courage   fails ;  full  sharp  they  feel 
'Tis  death  to  face  those  lines  of  burnished  steel, 
And  death  to  yield ;— more  deaf  than  granite  wall 
Grow  War's  grim  sons  when  mobs  for  mercy  call ! 
Small  choice  is  left.    With  courage   of  despair 
Some  face  their  fate,  and  perish  fighting  there  ; 
Some  cry  for  quarter;  some  amid  the  fray 
Dash  for  the  wood,  and  favored,  steal  away ; 
While  many,  wounded,  sink  upon  the  plain. 
Nor  ask  that  mercy  they  must  beg  in  vain  ! 

Short  was  the   struggle  ;   scarce   an   hour   ago 
That  braggart  mob,   exulting  o'er  the  foe, 
Breathed  fire  and  slaughter  ;  now,  upon  the   plain 
Not  one  armed  raider  stands !    Their  best  are  slain, 
The  rest  are  fled  or  wounded.    Thus,  Man's  life 
With  strange  vicissitudes  is  ever  rife  ; 
The  waves  that  drown  a  sailor's  dying  groan 
May  float  his  wrecked  companion  to  a  thi-one  ! 
The  wands  that  drive  the  merchant's  ships  astray 
May  from  the  waiting  pirate   snatch   his   prey  ! 
Not  ours  to  rule  events.    These  boasted  powers, 
These  deep-laid  schemes,  these  wise  designs  of  ours, 
No  more  avail  to  bend  Fate's   destined  course. 


68  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


Than  ropes  of  sand  to  bind  old  Ocean's  force  I 
Let  Wisdom  humbly  do  what  seemeth  best, 
And  to  the  great  Disposer  leave  the  rest ! 


CHAPXBR  IV. 


Since  Cupid's  birth,  of  all  the  gods  above. 
He  only  braves  the  power  of  conquering  Jove,— 
That  Power  whose  lightnings  strike  all  hearts  with  fears, 
Whose  awful  thunders  shake  the  echoing  spheres,— 
Whose  will  despotic  doth  vast  Heaven  control, 
And  Earth  and  all  her  isles,  from  pole  to   pole. 
Even  Jove's  stern  sister-wife  accepts  his  sway 
And  gods  and  mortals  tremble   and  obey. 
Save  Venus'  freeborn  son !  He  bows  no  knee 
To  Powers  above,  beneath,  or  in  the   sea  ! 
Love  reigns  through  all :    Jove,  and   his  brothers  twain, 
Divide  the  Heavens,  the  Shades,  the  watery  Main  ;— 
Love  soars  to  Heaven:— even  cloud-compelling  Jove 
Yields  to  his  spell,  and,  conquered,  bows  to  Love  ! 
Love   stoops  to  Earth ;  no  shade,  no  sylvan  grot, 
No  isle   so  secret,  that  he  rules  it  not,— 
No  King  so  mighty  but  Love  bows  his   soul,— 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  59 

No  law   SO  binding  can  his  will  control. 

Love  may  be  prisoned,  tortured,    scourged,  in  chains, — 

Bought,  sold,  betrayed;  may   bleed  at  all  his  veins, 

But  his  free  spirit,  scorning   bolt   and  chain. 

Released  from  bonds  soars  heavenward  again  ! 

For  Love,   man   faces  death  in  every  form. 

The  Battle's  shock,  the  Ocean's  wildest  storm,— 

Beards  the  grim  lion  in  his  native  grove. 

And  braves  the  pestilence,  when  bid  by  Love  ! 

For  Love,   man  tames  the   brute  in  his  own  breast, 

( Far  hardest  task  of  all ! )    At  Love's  behest 

Subdues  even  Self,  that  giant  fierce  and  tall. 

Who,  but  for  Love  would  soon  subdue  us  all ! 

Love  lent  new  strength  to  Wilfred's  arm  that  day. 
Ulrica  in  the  leaguered  fortress  lay, 
Condemned,  if  captured,  to  the   insulting  gaze 
Of  the  rude  mob,— or  worse, — a  thought  to  raise 
A  whirlwind  in   his   soul, — perhaps   the   prize 
Of  border  chief,  whose  bold,  licentious  eyes 
Should  drink  her  beauty  in!    The  maddening  thought 
Swift   death  to  many  a  luckless  raider  brought  ! 
But  when  the  fight  was  o'er,  and  victory  won,— 
When  she  was  safe,  and  War's  grim  work  was  done. 
He  paused  to  wonder  much,  what  chance  had  brought 
Such  succor  to  their  needs.    Yet  failed  he   not 
To  thank  that  Power  who  in  their  strait  had  given 
Deliverance  from  the   foe,  and  pay  to  Heaven 
That  meed  of  j^^'d^se  which  few,  alas !  bestow, 
Though  when  in  need  our  prayers  unstinted  fiow ! 

Scarce  from  his  knees  the  grateful  Knight  'gan  rise 
And  o'er  the  field  look  forth  with  curious  eyes. 
When  a  strong  hand  was   on  his   shoulder  laid. 
And  a  commanding  voice  his  motions  stayed ! 
The  same   stern  voice,  in  simple  words    and   few 
Called  a  strong  guard,  prompt    his  behests  to  do. 


60  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

That    "to   his   'customed  room  within  the   Tower, 
The   prisoner  be  conveyed ;  and  from  that  hour, 
Respectful   service  all  his  wants  attend, 
But  not  one  word  by   servant,  guard,  or  friend. 
Be  to  him   spoken ;   not  a   written  line 
From   friend  without, — no  letter,  gift  or  sign 
Shall   message   from   the   outer  world   convey : 
You   have  your  orders  !     Lead  your  charge  away !" 

Xo  time  for  answering  speech  he  gave  the   Knight, 
But  turning,   spurred   his   charger  out  of   sight ; 
When  the  dumb  guard,  with  footsteps  sad  and   slow 
Marshaled  the  way  their  orders  bade  them  go ; 
By  tortuous  paths,  reluctant  all,  they  led 
Their  honored   prisoner  through  the   field  of  dead, 
Where   wounded  wretches   moaned   or  cursed  in   pain ; 
Then  o'er  the  smouldering  logs  the  gates  thej"  gain, — 
Half-stifled   climb   onoe  more   the   narrow   stair 
To  the  dull  prison-hall.    The  poisoned  air 
Still   reeks  with  smoke ;   but  darker  Wilfred's  mood, 
And  ranker  poison   stirs  his  fevered  blood ! 

When  his  young  heart  was  free, — before   he   loved, — 
His  haughty  sire's   commands   had   simply  moved 
Resistance   in  his  soul ;  he    but  rebelled 
'Gainst  tyranny,   and   his  young  bosom   swelled 
With  boyish   love   of  freedom,   and   a  sense 
Of  rights  inherent,   given   by  Providence 
To   all   created  beings.     Then,   his  heart 
Took  in  the  argument  but  little  part ; 
Noiv  soul  and  sense,  and  throbbing  heart  combined 
To   stir  rebellion  in   his  angry  mind  ! 
"Did  Heaven's  decree,  or  Nature's  law,  require 
Obedience  from  a  son  to  such  a    sire. 
Who   on  'Ambition's  blood-stained   altar  throws 
Two  bleeding  hearts,  and  recks  not  of  the   woes 
Those   hearts  must  feel  ?    Shall   not  the  fumes  that  rise 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  61 

To  augry  Heaven  from  such  a  sacrifice, 
Dissolve  weak  Nature's   bond,  which  fetters    still 
A  child's  free  action  by  a  parent's  will? 
Why  should  his  promise,  under  pressure  given 
Bind  his  free  acts  in  face  of  earth  or  heaven? 
Why  not  make  known  to  her  his  heart  holds  dear 
His  name,   his   rank,   and  why   his   durance   here,— 
Bid  her  to  fly  with   him  ?     Means  might  be  found 
To  bribe   a  guard  who   knew  the   country  round; 
Then  in  some  foreign  land  where  worth  is  known, 
Where   swords  carve   paths  to  fortune  and  renown, 
In   far-off  France,  or  'neath   Italia's   sky. 
There  might  they  happy  live,  and   honored  die ! 

Thus  mused  he   long,— when   softly  from  below 
Floats  a  dear  voice   his  ear  hath  learned  to  know : 
Its  mournful  pathos,  tender,   sweet,  and  grave. 
Calms  his  vexed  soul,  as  oil  the   troubled  wave  ! 


SONG. 


Dark    mists   may  dim  our  noonday    sky 

Dark  night  may  whelm  our   world  in  gloom, 
Heaven's  radiant,  starlit  canopy 

To  starless,  moonless   night  give   room, — 
Hope's  cable   part  its   hold  on   earth. 

Our  boats  drift   anchorless  to   sea. 
And  even  the  polestar  of   the   North 

Hide  'neath  the  clouds   that  o'er  us  be ! 

Wild  watery  wastes  may  round  us  roar, 
Mad  waves  lift  high  our  struggling   bark 

Storms  beat,— cold  rains  in  deluge   pour 
And  winds  howl  fiercely  through  the  dark, 

The   chilling  air  grow  cold  and    dank 
And  weird  the   sleet-shrouds  mantling  all, 


62  A  SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

And   slippery  grow  each  icy  plank 
And  ya\vning  billows  wait  our  fall ! 

Though  mist  and  cloud  and  night  enfold, 

Though  cables  part  and  anchors  fail, 
And  Life's  frail  bark  through  storm  and  cold 

Drive  swift  before  the  pelting  gale,— 
Though  breakers  roar  on  port  and  lee. 

And  rocks  and  shoals  lie  close  before. 
Sunlight  aye  follows  storms,  and  we 

May  float  on  billows  yet  to  shore  ! 

He  who  to  Honor  holds  him  leal,— 

He  who  to  plighted  Faith  is  true, 
Unawed  may  list  the  thunder  peal. 

See  clouds  obscure  Heaven's  vault  of  blue  ! 
Death  conquers  not  the  steadfast  soul ! 

Love,  Faith,  and  Honor  never  die;— 
Beyond  Earth's  storm-vexed  isles  their    goal, 

Their  home  beyond  the  changeful  sky ! 


"Thanks  for  thy  song!"    cried  Wilfred  in    reply; 
"  Thanks  noble  maid,  for  faith  and    constancy ! 
Thanks,  for  a  love  that  scorns  all  meaner  aims. 
And  thanks  for  pointing  out  what  Honor    claim  s ! 
Thy  faith  be  mine;— here  will  I  calmly  wait 
And  as  behooves  true  knight,  will  meet  my  fate!" 

— 'Twas  her  last  message— for  she  went  that   night. 
So  he  was  sure,— and  with  her  went  the  light 
From  Wilfred's  life;    and  then  for  many  a  day 
In   sullen  apathy  our  hero  lay. 
Too  proud  to  murmur,  and  too  sad  to  care 
Or  note  what  changes  Time  was  working  there. 
Such  calm  doth  Heaven  to  sentenced  wretches  send; 
So  doth  fond  Nature  ever  stand  our   friend! 
When  hope,  and  love,  and  life  itself   seem  lost, 


A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  63 

Our  souls,  no  more  by  warring  passi6ns  tossed 
Sink  to  a  painless  calm;    kind  opiates  steep 
Our  deadened  senses  into  welcome   sleep, 
Which  Death  can  scarcely  fright.    The  victim   lays 
His  dazed  head  on  the  block,  and  only  prays 
The  falling  axe  may  clear  the  mists  which  rise 
Round  his  dimmed  sight,  and,  not  regretful,  dies ! 

So  listless  Wilfred's  mood,  he  little  notes 
Though  scarce  fails  hearing,  when  a  hundred  throats 
With  loud  huzzas  and  shouts  of  welcome  greet 
And  drown  the  clattering  of  the  armed  feet 
Of  a  grand  cavalcade,  which  from  the  north 
Comes  spurring  down  the  road  !    Could  he  look  forth 
'Tis  doubtful  if  he  would;    for,  what  to  him 
The  world's  gay  shows,  whose  young  life  to  the  brim 
Is  filled  with  bitterness  ?    Why  should  he  care 
For  sports  and  revelry  he  may  not  share  ? 
With  folded  arms  and  downcast  eyes  once  more 
He  walks  with   measured  steps  the  well-worn  floor; 
And  ere  an  hour,  if  he  had  given  it  thought 
When  heard,  like  some  dim  dream  'twas  quite  forgot. 

The  key  is  turned, — he  scarcely  notes  the  sound 
Made  by  the  creaking  bolt;    nor  turns  him  round 
When  a  firm  footstep  on  the  oaken  floor 
Approaches  slowly  from  the  opened  door; 
But  when  his  languid  eyes  he  lifts  again. 
He  sees  the  man  who  on  the  bloody  plain 
Ordered  his  foul  ai-rest !    One  haughty  bow, — 
One  moment's  pause,  a  darkening  of  the  brow. 
And  Wilfred  turns  him  round  in  scornful  pride. 
And  walks  in  silence  from  the   stranger's  side; 
But  ere  three  steps  the  sullen  youth  has  paced, 
A  heavy  hand  is  on  his  shoulder  placed,— 
Not  roughly,  but  with   force;    and,    turning  round, 
A  strong  but  kindly  face,  with  grey  hairs  crowned, 


64  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

And  clear  grey,  searching  eyes,  and  features  plain, 
Disarm  his  anger  and  attention  gain. 

"Wilfred !"    the  stranger  speaks,  "Not  oft  this  hand 
Detains  a  listener  whom  I  might  command; 
But  mercy  prompts  me  now  to   overlook 
A  slight  my  anger  might  not  always  brook ! 
Hear  me,  rash  boy !    Then  seest  a  friend  in  me. 
Who,  for  thy  sake,  seeks  thus  a  word  with  thee  ! " 
Wilfred  obeyed.    The  stranger  spoke  again; 
"My  time  is  short — my  words  must  need  be  plain; 
I  know  thy  sire  full  well, — thy  story  too; 
I  know  thy  worth;    I  hold  thee  brave  and  true; 
I  know  thy  love — nay,  start  not !    'tis  no  shame; 
Thy  chosen  true-love  bears  an  honored  name, 
And  honors  it  in  turn !     Thy  father's  pride 
Hath  chosen  for  his  son  another  bride. 
Heed  well  my  words:     I  know  thy  father  well, 
And  can  on  his  strong  will  lay  such  a  spell 
Will  win  consent  that  thou,  his  son,  shalt  wed 
Thy  loved  Ulrica  in  that  lady's  stead, — 
(Count  Rosencranz's  fair  daughter.)     Dost  thou  start  ? 
Thou  seest  I  know  thy  history  by  heart ! 
Would'st  know  my  terms  ?    In  brief,  I  answer  plain: 
Our  country's  king,  of  portly  power  grows  vain 
As  age  impairs  his  mind.     I  fain  would  try 
(Joined  with  some  others,  firm  resolved  as  I,) 
If  the  proud  dotard  on  Hungaria's  throne 
Shall  dwarf  his  Barons'  power  to  swell  his  own  ! 
Can'st  guess  my  purpose  ?    Promise  us  thine  aid, 
Let  thy  tried  sword  be  in  the  balance  laid, 
Thy  name,  to  neighboring  youth   known  far  and  wide 
Thy  skill  in  arms,   famed  on  the   border  side, — 
Pledge  thou   but  this,  and  ere  three   days  are  sped 
Thy  rights  restored  thou  may.s't  thy  loved  one  wed, 
And  take  the  rank  thy  birth  and  merits  claim, 


A   SHEAF   OF  GRAIX.  65 

As  heir  and  guardian  of  an  honored  name !" 

Quick  springing  to  his  feet,  with  flashing  eyes, 
In  generous  rage  the  angry  Knight  replies : 

'  Hence,  tempter,   hence !  thy  offered  terms  I   spurn ! 
Ere  to  my  King  a  traitor  foul  I  turn, 
Ere,  'gainst  that  honored  head  one  blow  I  aim. 
Perish  my  life,   my   !ove,  my  ancient  name  ! 
Ha  !  grey-haired  schemer !  hast  thou  then  forgot 
Thy  country's  savior,  and  canst  basely  plot 
Against  that  silvered  head  so  foul  a  blow, — 
Whose  wisdom  foiled,  whose  valor  awed  the  foe, 
And  from  our  suffering  land  the  invader   hurled, 
And   won  the  praises  of  a  wondering  world ! 
Now,  by  that  honored   head  and  knightly   brow. 
Thy  own  grey  hairs  alone  protect  thee  now ! 
Go,  leave  my  presence,  lest  my  wrath  forget 
Thy  age,  and  slay  in  thee  a  traitor  yet !  " 

"This  is  thy  answer  then!"    the  stranger  cried: 

'My  offer  spurned,   my  friendly  power  defied  ! 
I  leave  thee  to  thy  fate,  and  soon  we'll  see 
How  fate  rewards  thy  boasted  loyalty ! 
Thy  sire  attends  below;    and,  to  enhance 
Thy  joy  at  meeting,  comes  Count  Rosencranz 
With  his  fair  daughter;    and,  'tis  freely  said. 
They  mean  this  day  thou  shalt  this    daughter   wed  1 
I  leave  thee  to  thy  thoughts, — but  soon  intend 
To  grace  the  nuptials  of  my  loyal  friend ! 
Till  then  farewell ! "    He  drew  his  mantle  on. 
Moved  slowly  toward  the  stairway  and  was  gone. 

With  wrath-flushed  face  our  hero  turns  once  more 
To  pace  with  angry  steps   his  prison  floor; 
And  ever  as   he  walks,  his  scowling  brow 
And  clenching  hands  his  working  passions   show; 
Then,  as  the  ambushed  lion,   brought  to   bay 
Sees  the  armed  cordon  draw  around  the  prey, — 


66  A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN 

Views  the  aimed  muskets  with  [unflinching  eye 
And  grimly  waits  the  shots  that  bid  him  die, 
So  calm  grows  Wilfred  as  the   hour  draws  near, 
With  heart  devoid  of  hope  but  dead  to  fear. 

An  hour  grows  by,  but  heedless  of  its  loss 
Still  do  his  restless  steps  the  chamber  cross, 
Till  the  quick  opening  of  his  prison  door 
Calls  his  dull  thoughts  back  from  their  flight  once  more, 
And  looking  up  he  sees,  with  much  surprise 
Stout  Hubert's  sturdy  form   and  friendly  eyes. 
Hubert,  whose  loss  his  comrades  mourned  of  late, 
Doomed  to  a  captured  spy's  ignoble  fate. 

The  guard  doth  from   his  sire  a  message  bear, 
It  bids  his  son  his  toilet  quick    prepare, 
(His  guard  assisting,)  then,  without  delay. 
To  the  large  hall  -below  direct  his  way; 
"Some   business  there,"  the  message  vaguely  said, 
"  Required  his  presence  ere  the  day  be   sped." 

Wilfred  obeyed  in  silence, — from  his    chest 
Took  fitting  raiment,  and  his  person  dressed, 
(His  friendly  guard  assisting,)  as  became 
A  destined  bridegroom;    but  a  sullen    flame 
Shot  from  his  eye, — a  light  that  timid  bride 
Would  pale  to  see  in  bridegroom  at  her  side  1 
Then  motioning  to  his  guide  to  lead  the  way 
He  followed,  as  on    execution-day 
The  victim  to  the  block; — not  tremblingly 
As  one  who  feared  his  fate,  but  firm  as  he 
Who  dies  for  Conscience'  sake, — save  that  an   air 
Of  angry  pride  and  scorn  was  lurking  there. 

A  long,  dark  hall;    rough  walls,    with  branches  hung,. 
Where  ivy  twines  the  laurel's  leaves  among; 
Where  Autumn's  ruddy  boughs  in  contrast    shine. 
Mid  the  dark  branches  of  the  sombre  pine; 
Where,  mingled  with  the  green,  from   roof  and  wall 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  67 

Gay  banners  droop,  and  pendant  streamers   fall; 
Where  lamps  burn  bright,  and  lanterns  swung  on  high 
To  the  dark  room  their  needed  light  supply; 
Where,   o'er  the  roughness  of  the   puncheon  floor 
Rich  mats  are  spread,  strange  to  the  hall  before  1 

Glancing  across  the  room,  the   curious  eye 
May  at  its  end  a  sacred  altar    spy. 
By  tapers  lighted;    and  beneath  its  shade 
A  reverend  priest,  in  sable  robes  arrayed, 
Stands   silent  at  his  desk.    On  either  hand 
Two  waiting  groups  near  the  low  altar  stand. 
In  expectation  hushed;    and  seated  near, 
A  grey-haired   man,  of  countenance   severe. 
With  mantle  loosely  o'er  his  shoulders  thrown. 
Seems  lost  in  thought,  unconscious  and  alone. 

Among  the  groups,   stout  Rupert's  stately  head 
Towers  o'er  the  rest, — his  beard,   once  flaming  red. 
Turned  white  with  age;    but  his  strong  limbs  betray 
No  sign  that  Time  has  stolen  their  strength  away. 
But  lips  compressed,  aud  sullen,  clouded  brow 
Betray  a  soul  sore  vexed  by  passion  now  ! 

By  Rupert's  side  in  pleasant  reverie  stands 
His    friend  and  ally,  courtly    Rosencranz. 
No  braver  knight   e'er  buckled   on   a    brand, — 
No  truer  friend  clasped  a  tried  comrade's  hand, — 
No  warmer  heart   e'er  beat  in   human  breast. 
Yet  the   brave  Count  one  weakness  still  confessed: 
He  had  a  daughter  dearer  than   his  life; 
'Twas  his  heart's  hope  to  see   her  Wilfred's  wife, — 
A  hope  that  grew  with  years.    He  loved  the  boy, 
Even   from   his   childhood;    and  it  was   with  joy 
Such  as  a  miser  feels,  (who  notes  his    store 
Swell  day  by  day;  till  chests  can  hold  no  more,) 
He  watched  his  growing  strength,  his    wondrous  skill. 
Heard  his  brave  actions  told,  and,  sweeter  still, 


68  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

His  generous  spirit  praised !    Not  an  own  son 
Could  warmer  place  in  that  warm  heart  have  won  ! 

A  few  more  friends  are  gathered  in  the   hall: 
Some  guards,  well  armed,  whose  Captain  stout  and  tall, 
Stands  with  his  buxom  wife,  somewhat  apart, 
And  waits  the  coming  scene  with  anxious  heart. 

Sudden  the    door  on  its  huge  hinges  swings, 
In  the  high  tower  the  bell  its  signal  rings, — 
The  guide  advances  through  the   open  door, 
And  Wilfred,  entering,  views  the  pageant  o'er. 
Prompt  to  the  altar,  in  rich  surplice  drest, 
In  proud  humility  the  aged  priest 
Steps,  rapt  in  reverent  thought;  hung  at  his  side 
By  slender  chain,  a  Savior  Crucified, 
Embossed  in  gold,  is  seen;  a  golden  key, 
Token  of  Peter's  sacred  charge,  which  he 
To  Rome's  proud  Pontiff  left,  rests  by  its  side, 
Pit  emblem  of  the  Church's  power  and  pride ! 

Led  by  his  friendly  guide,  Wilfred  advanced 
With  slow  and  measured  steps;  not  once  he  glanced 
Aside  to  right  or  left;  nor  shunned,  nor  sought 
The  eye  of  foe  or  friend;  nor  even  when  brought 
Before  the  altar  deigned  to  cast  one  look 
Around,  but  gazed  with  steady  eyes,  that  took 
No  note  of  aught  that  passed; — a  haughty  stare 
Their  sole  expression;  while  a  lofty  air 
Of  calm  defiance  and  intense  disdain 
Informed  his  every  motion.    'Twas  in  vain 
The  wondering  priest  essayed  to  win  a  look 
And  the  good  Count  a  forward  footstep  took 
With  hand  extended;  while  his  troubled  sire. 
Now  pale  with  pain,  now  flushed  with  angry  fire, 
Glared  on  his  silent  son;  not  chiseled  stone 
More  cold,  and  hard,  and  feelingless  had  shown, 
Than  that  proud  statue  of  unawed  despair 


A   SHEAF  OF  GKAIN.  69 

That  stood  \\ith  folded  arms  before  them  there ! 

Compelled  at  last  to  speak,  with  halting  phrase 
Rupert  at  length  the  painful  task  essays: 
"Some  potent  reasons,  needless  to  be  told 
Urge  our  prompt  parting  from  this  forest  hold; 
But  ere  we  leave  its  hospitable  walls, 
These  friends  have  gathered  in  its  humble  halls 
To  see  our  son  joined  in  blest  wedlock's  bauds 
With  the  fair  daughter  of  Count  Rosencranz  !  " 

He  paused;    then  Wilfred  answered,  cold  and  low: 
"  I  am  no  party  to  this  mocking  show  ! 
Brought  by  my  guard,  I  stand  a  prisoner  here: 
Do  with  me  as  thou  wilt;  and  never  fear, 
The  son  thou  hast  the  power  to  doom  to  death 
Will  in  weak  murmurs  waste  his  partirig  breath ! 
Do  then  thy  worst !    By  the  just  Heavens  above, 
/  zoill  not  iced  the  maid  I  do  not  love!'''' 

Quick  to  the  front  the  angry  Baron  came. 
And  faced  his  fearless  son  with  eyes  of  flame; 
But  ere  his  rage  found  vent,  the  grey-haired  guest 
Between  the  twain  his  forceful  shoulders  pressed; 
And  the  fierce  sire,  in  anger  and  surprise 
Met  the  stern  glances  of  those  keen  grey  eyes. 
And  yielded  to  the  power  which,  none  know  why, 
Dwells  in  the  glance  of  calm  Authoi-ity  ! 

The  stranger  spoke:    "Let  all  this  passion  cease  ! 
I  come   a  friend:    my  mission  is  for  peace. 
Behold  my  warrant,   'neath  the  seal  and  ring 
Of  the  great  Bela,   whose  commands  I  bring  ! 
Let  none  who   hear  presume  to   disobey ! 
Attend  to   what   Hungaria's   king   doth   say: 
"Let  Rupei't's  son  obey  his  sire's  command, — 
Give  to  his  destined   mate  his  promised  hand, 
Or  from   our  kingdom  into  exile  sent. 
In  lifelong  banishment  his  fault  repent ! " 


70  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

He  ceased,  and  on  our  hero  standing  by- 
Plashed  the  quick  lightning  of  his  searching  eye; 
But  calm,  and  cold,  and  dauntless  as  before 
Bold  Wilfred  stood,  and  scanned  the   stranger  o'er: 
"  Strange  messenger  our  king  hath  chosen,"  he  said, 
"To  bid  his  faithful  vassals  whom  to  wed! 
When  traitors  such  as   thou  his  orders  bear, 
X/et  wolves  guard  sheep,  and  Turks  our    counsel  share 
I  love  my  king !    Let  him  my  service  task 
In  aught  that  Knight  should  do,  or  monarch   ask, — 
Let  him  such  service  at  my  hand    require 
By  flood  or  field, — through  pestilence   or   flre, — 
If  then  I  fail  to  do   a  knightly  part. 
Perish  my  name, — curst  be  my  craven  heart ! 
But  not  for  earthly  King  or  earthly  sire 
Should  Man  defy  Heaven's  all-consuming  ire, — 
Yield  up  his  Honor  'neath  the   robber's  knife. 
And  sell  his  soul  to  buy   his   wretched  life  !" 

While  thus  in   bitter  mood  the    youth  went  on, 
Count  Rosencrauz  had  from  their  presence   gone, 
And  quick  returning,  to  the  altar  led 
His  daughter,  closely  veiled ;  then   mildly,   said : 
"Wilfred,  I  scarce  can  urge  my  daughter's  charms, 
To  win  unwilling  husband  to  her  arms ; — 
Yet,  ere  we  part,  tis  fair  revenge  to   show 
The  humble   gift  I  offered  to   bestow, — 
Which  you  reject  unseen, — an  act  unwise. 
To  fling  away   a  gift  might   prove  a   prize !" 

Calmly  had  Wilfred  stood,  and  coldly  gazed 
Unmoved  till  now.    Why  starts  he   back  amazed  ? 
Where  has  his  pride,   his  courage  fled  ? — and  why 
That  long,  wild  look— that  quick,  half -painful  cry  ? 
Is  it  a  ghost  he  sees  ?    What  else  could  take 
The  color  from  his  cheeks  ?    What  shock  could  break 
That  iron  will,  and   send   him  to  his   knee 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


71 


Begging  Count  Rosencranz  in  charity 
To  give  what  he'd  refused  to  take?    What  spell 
Lights  up   his  eyes  with  joy  he  cannot  tell ! 
Breaks  in  his  heart  cold  Winter's  cheerless   reign, 
And  bids  youth's  genial  Spring  bloom  there  again? 
Simply  the  lifting  of  a  veil,— a  look 
From  loving  eyes  beneath ;  like  those  that  took 
His  young  heart  captive  in  those  happy  hours 
Passed  by  Ulrica's  side,  mid  birds   and  flowers. 
And  flashing  streams,  'neath  sunny  skies   that  lent 
Their  brightness  to  each  glance  those  bright  eyes   sent  1 
Such  glance   hath  mastered  monarch  on  his  throne,— 
Hath  driven  wise  men  mad.    Such  hath  been   known 
To  seal  the   fate  of  empires  ;  swerve  the  strong 
From  his  fixed  purpose— urge  the  weak  along 
To  deeds  of  high  emprise.    Potential  still 
Such  glances  seem,  alas  !  for  good  or  ill  ! 
Bright  Thais'  glances  bade  a  city  burn. 
Queen  Esther's  saved  a  Nation !    In  our  turn 
We    all  obey    them.    Can  we  wonder  then 
That  Wilfred,  though  the   stubbornest  of  men. 
Changed  suddenly  his  mind,  and  urged  the  priest 
To  promptness  in  his  office?    This  at  least 
We  know,— nor  urgent  sire  nor  anxious  friend 
Seemed  half  so  eager  for  its  prosperous  end 
As  the  strange  youth  who  challenged,  but  so  late. 
Rather  than  wed,  the  utmost  power  of   Fate  ! 
How  radiant  before  the  priest  they  stand, — 
How  reverently  he  takes  her  proffered  hand 
When  bidden,- half  afraid  that  all  will  prove 
But  a  sweet  dream  of  ecstasy  and  love ! 
And  when  the  precious  words  are  said  which    bind 
"  Till  Death  doth  part,"— and  when,  with  blessings  kind, 
The  good  priest  yields  them  to  the  friends  who   crowd 
To  greet  and  bless  them,— never  youth   more  proud 


72  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Clasped  happier  maiden  ia  his  arms,  or  pressed 

A  nobler  partner  to  his  manly  breast ! 

And  prouder  sire  upon  a  wedding  day 

Than    the  glad  Count,   ne'er  gave   a   child   away ! 

When  all,  their  kindly  greetings  had  expressed, 
To  Wilfred's  side  approached  the  gray-haired   guest, 
And  in  that  quiet  tone  they  knew  so  well 
Bade  the  youth  follow  to  the  prison-cell ! 
The  wondering  guests,  awed   by  the  potent  charm 
Of  those   calm   eyes,  suppressed  their  first  alarm, 
But  as  the   retiring  pair  from  sight  withdrew 
Their  wonder  doubled,  and  their  terror  too. 
They  climbed  together  up  the  darkened  stair. 
Reached  the  rough  hall,  and  paused  together  there, 
When  turning  on  the  youth  those  searching  eyes. 
The  grey-haired  stranger  spoke  without  disguise : 

"Wilfred,  much  joy  this  happy  chance    doth    bring; 
Kneel  down,   brave   Knight,  in  duty  to  thy  King! 
Yes,  gallant  boy,— thou  well  mayst  kneel  to  me, — 
'Tis  Bela's  self  that  bids  thee  to  thy  knee  ! 
And  much  he  joys  that,  in  this  brief  disguise 
Thy   King  hath  learned  thy  loyalty  to  prize. 
And  that  firm  constancy  and  courage  high 
That  'twas  his  errand  here  this  day  to  try  ! 
Hadst  thou   but  faltered,    when,  with  cunning  art. 
The  tempter  sorely  tried  thy  loyal   heart, 
Hadst  thou,  to  please  thy  too  ambitious  sire, 
Bowed  to  his  will,   or  trembled  at  his  ire ; 
Or,  braving  that,  hadst  basely  been  content 
To  yield  at  last  to  threats  of    banishment. 
By  Bela's  word,  no  wife  thou  then  hadst  won. 
But  the  crushed  sire  had  mourned  a  banished   son  I 
More,  the  brave  Count  of  this  exploit  will  tell; 
Rise,  Wilfred,  noble  boy!    I  love  thee  wel!. 
And  count  thee  hence,  though  sorely  tried  of  late 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  73 

A  trusted  prop   and   bulwark   of  our   state ! 

Whose  loyal  heart,  tried  in  affliction's  fire, 

Shields  thy  proud  father  from  his  sovereign's  ire, 

Who,  since  Ambition  vexed  his  troubled  dreams 

Have  known  his  wildest  hopes,  his  subtlest  s  chemes ; 

And  had  his  son  his  secret  counsels  shared. 

That  son  my  righteous  vengeance  had  not  spared ! 

Time  presses :  Wilfred,  loyal  friend,  farewell ! 

The  Count  will  more   of  this  adventure  tell. 

Bid  Hubert  seek  me  here  ;  nor,  ere  I  go, 

Let  thy  forgiven   sire   and  kinsmen  know 

That  Hungary's  King,  thy  loyalty  to  test. 

Came  to  thy  wedding  an  unbidden  guest !" 

He  ceased.    The  youth,  with  gratitude  o'ercome. 

Drops  to  his  knee,  with  deep  emotion  dumb, 

But  tears  that  grief  and  passion  could  not   start, 

Well  from  his  eyes  and  speak  the  grateful  heart ! 

Then  rising  to  his  feet,  his  tears  to  hide 

He  turns  away  and  quits  the  monarch's  side. 

Halts  at  the   door,  a  deep  obeisance  makes 

Then  to  the  hall  below  his  message  takes  ; 

Finds  Hubert  waiting  'mong  the  groups  below, 

And  bids  him  to  his  royal  master  go. 

Then  joins  his  waiting  bride,  and  fondly  dries 

The  gathered  tears  that  dim  Ulrica's  eyes ! 


— I  fear,  my  knowing  lady  friends  will  pout 
Should  I  explain   how  things  were  brought  about ! 

"  They  knew  it  all  the  time !  who  could  not  guess. 
When   the  wise  Count  had  heard,  with  deep  distress 
Of  Wilfred's   banishment,  and  guessed  its  cause. 
His  shrewd  old  head,  well  versed  in  Nature's   laws 
Resolved  to  task  its  gentle  powers  as  well. 
And   send  his  daughter  to  that  wooded   dell  ? 

(A  distant  relative  commanded  there. 


74  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Whose   kindly  wife  would  watch  with  tender  care, 
And,  told  the  wishes  of  the  father's  heart, 
Aid  the  fond  scheme  with  a  wise  woman's  art.) 
"He  banished  her,"  so  the  shrewd  parent  said, 
"Because  the   silly  maid  seemed  loth  to  wed 
The   mate  her  sire  preferred."    But,  stronger  cause 
The   Count  had  yet  at  heart.    'Gainst  forest  laws, 
The  lawless  bands  of  bold  Count  Constantine, 
(The  worthless  scion  of  an  honored  line,) 
Made  frequent  raids,  the  border  chiefs  among. 
And   Rumor,  with  her  ever-busy  tongue 
Had  told,  how  the   bold   Count's  licentious  eyes 
Had  marked  his  lovely  daughter  as  his  prize. 


When  trusty  Hubert  left  the  Fort  that  night, 
Before  the  attacking  mob  began  the  fight. 
He  closed  the  secret  door,  and  quickly  hied 
Where  a  stout  horse  stood  in  a  thicket  tied. 
Ready  for  sudden  need, — then  took  his  way 
Not  to  the  North,   where  Rupert's  castle   lay, 
But,  screened   by  favoring  trees,  when  out  of  view 
Wheeled  his   spurred  steed  and  down  the  pathway  flew. 
O'er  rock  and  root, — through  swamp  and  rushing  stream, — 
Down  darksome  dells  where  scarce  the  moon's  bright  beam 
Could  mid   the  gloom  the  winding  pathway  show 
That   joins  the  broader  highway  miles   below ; 
But  the  stout  horse  ne'er  stumbled  to  a  fall. 
Though  oft  the   spur  his  bleeding  flank  must  gall, 
Whene'er  his   hurrying  steps  he   fain  would  slack 
At   darksome  gulch,  or  torrent  deep  and  black ; 
Till  safe  on  smoother  road,  with  slackened   rein 
He  needs  no  spur  to  urge  him  o'er  the   plain. 

All  night  the   sturdy  guard  and  strong-limbed  steed 
Through  wood  and  plain,  o'er  hill  and  valley  speed, 
Through  forests  vast,  within  whose  depths  profound 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  75 

No  signs   of  life  are  met ;  no  sight  nor  sound 
Save   the  slight  rustling  in  its   midnight  lair 
Or  long,  low  howl,  that   tells  the  wolf  is  there  ; 
Or   waters  rushing  o'er    their  rocky  bed 
Warn  the  bold  guard  of  mountain  stream  ahead. 

The  night  is  past,— and   Dawn's  first  streaks  of  grey- 
Broaden  and  lighten  into  perfect  Day, 
And  still   the  tireless  comrades  of   the  night, 
Bold  rider    and   stout  steed,  pursue   their  flight ; 
But   pause  at  last  to  snatch  an   hour  of  rest 
At  a  small   inn,  where  many  a  weary  guest 
Before  had  lodged,— but  never,  I'll  be  bound. 
Had  man  and  beast   more  welcome   refuge  found  ! 
Here  the  tired  trooper   doth  glad  tidings  gain,— 
That  Hungary's   mighty  King,   and  all  his  train,— 
Two  hundred  gallant  knights— a  brave  array,— 
Are  hunting  in   the   hills  some  leagues  away ! 
Short  rest  brave    Hubert  takes.    He  starts  with  speed, 
Leaves  his  tired    horse  and  mounts  a  swifter  steed  ; 
Sinks  the   sharp  spur   deep  in  its  quivering  side. 
And  dashes  tireless  on  his  lengthening  ride. 

The  King   at  noon  is    resting  from  the   chase. 
Camped  near  the  road,— 'tis  in  an  open  space 
Where  deep,   rich  verdure   clothes   earth's  grassy  floors, 
And  a  bright  spring  its  welcome    waters  pours. 
Successful  sport  has  brought  them  ample  cheer; 
Before    huge   fires  roast  limbs  of  mountain   deer ; 
Here,  pheasants,  spitted  on  sharp  spear-points   broil, 
And  savory  hares,  the  greyhounds'  hard-won  spoil. 
The  aged  King  reclines  beneath  the  shade. 
On  a  low  mound  with  cloth  of  gold  o'erlaid. 
While  on  his  board,  spread  'neath  a  branching  oak 
Broiled  venison  and  well-browned  pheasants  smoke; 
And  appetite.  Exertion's  favorite  son. 
Seasons  each  dish  when  the  cook's  work  is  done! 


76  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Small  wonder,  Kings,  grown  weary  of  their  state, — 
Of  pomp  and  circumstance  that  hedge  the  great, — 
Of  cares  that  dog  their  steps   at   every  turn, — 
Of  cringing  slaves,  whose  flatteries   they  spurn, — 
Of  venal  counselors  and  treacherous   friends 
Who  wrong  their  confidence  for  selfish  ends, 
Rush  from  the   throne, — ( itself  a  fraud  at  best ! ) 
To  lay  their  aching  hearts  on  Nature's  breast ! 

Scarce  had  the  feasters  from  their  banquet  ceased 
Ere  a  tired   rider,  spurring  toward   the   East, 

(As   round  a  jutting  wood   his  courser  flew) 
Right  in  their  midst,  surprised,  his  bridle  drew,— 
Sprang  from   his   horse,   walked   to   the  sheltering  tree, 
And  to  his  sovereign  bent  his  loyal  knee  ; — 
Told  his  brief  tale — a  ready  listener  found. 
And,  reeling,   sank  exhausted  on  the  ground ! 

Now  the  strange  power  of  spoken  words  is  seen  ! 
That  aged  man,  who  lay   upon  the  green 
In  listless  pleasaunce,  pausing  in  his  feast 
To   bandy  merry  speech  and   lightsome  jest. 
Springs  to  his  feet, — his  words  like  clarion  ring, — 
'Tis  Bela's  self,  and  every  inch  a  King  ! 
Bids  all  to  horse, — orders  his  war    steed  brought, — 
Plans  every  movement  with  the  speed  of  thought, — 
Pauses,  for  Hubert's  welfare  to   provide, — 

( A   trusted   Knight,   placed  on   the  border  side 
To  warn  his  King  how  Rupert's  projects  sped. 
Ere  dark  rebellion  raise  its  snaky  head ! ) 
Then   joins  his  band,  like  common  huntsman  dressed, 
Mounts  his  stout  steed,  and  turns   him  to  the   West ! 
The  rest  is   known.    Their  coming  saved  the  fight. 
Their  flashing  blades  soon   put  the  mob   to   flight  ; 
Yet  scarce  their  swords  were  drawn,  or  poised  the  lance » 
Ere   o'er  the  Western  hills  Count  Rosencranz 
Came   spurring  to  the  field,  (warned   by  the   scout 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  77 

Who  through  the  picket  line  had  stolen  out.) 

The  fight  well  o'er,  the  gallant  leaders  met. 

The  monarch  wore  his  hunter's  trappings  yet, 

And  warned  the   Count  to  silence    by  a  word, 

Ere  by  the  troops  the   monarch's  name  was  heard ; 

Called  the  brave  Captain  forth,  and  in  his  ear 

Whispered  a  name  that  made   him  start  in  fear ! 

Warned  him  to  close  his  lips, — arranged  a  day 

When  to  the   Fort  they  soon  should  wend  their  way 

On  other  errand;    bade   him  then   prepare 

His  halls,  and  have  a  priest  in  waiting  there; 

And,  should  his  plans  by  favoring   fate  be    blest 

Himself  might  join  them  as  a  wedding  guest; — 

Summoned  the  Count,  and  bade  him  plan  to  bring 

Young  Wilfred's  sire,  unwarned,  to   meet  his   king, — 

Who,  for  some   fancied  wrong,  in   angry  pride 

For  long  years  past  had  shunned  his  monarch's  side, — 

So  long,  that  Time  who,  with  impartial  sway 

Touches  all  heads  alike,  to  silver  grey, 

Had  changed  those  golden  locks,  his  youthful  pride, 

And  plowed  deep  creases  in  that  forehead  wide, — 

Stolen  his  gay  Youth, — made  Manhood's  strength  his  prize, 

But  left  the  magic  of  those  searching  eyes ! 

Left,  too,  the  dauntless  will,  the  subtle    mind. 

In  Bela's  mighty  soul  so  well  combined. 

The  world  still  questions  which  did  most  prevail. 

Valor  outweigh,  or  Wisdom  turn  the  scale ! 

They  met  no  more,  the   Baron  and  the  King, — 
On  Earth  at  least !    Before  another  Spring 
Death,  the  stern  Master  of  Life's  Masquerade, 
Called  both  great  actors,  and  their  parts  were   played 
On  Earth's  rude   stage.    Where  \vill  they  next  appear? 
Will  some  wear  crowns,^some  bow  weak  knees  as  here? 
In  the  proud   pageants  of  the  other    shore 
Will  great  men  tread  in  pride  the  golden  floor, 


78  A   SHEAF  OF  GHAIN, 

While  smaller  men  applaud?    Will   factions  rage 

To  please  the  actors  of  that  larger  stage? 

Or  will  it  to  wise  lips  but  laughter    bring 

To  hear  such  terms  as  Baron,  Count,  and  King,— 

Those  senseless  words,  so  strangely  potent    here 

To  charm  dull  slaves,  and  hold  weak  fools  in   fear? 

And  still  the  world  wagged  on  I    Great  Bela  died, 
And  soon  their  tears  his  weeping  subjects  dried. 
And  learned  with  wondrous  speed  their    grief   to    tame, 
And  shout  till  hoarse  his  great  successor's  name  ! 
And  Happiness,  a  guest  with  radiant   face. 
In  l^upert's  halls  took  dark  Ambition's  place; — 
And  childhood's  merry  shouts,  and   music  rare. 
And  Love's  sweet  converse  changed  the  echoes   there,  1] 
That  wont,  with  trumpets'  blare,  and  clash  of   sword 
To  soothe  the  pride  of  their  departed    lord ! 


Here  leave  we,  then,  the  Tale.    Should    critic    point 
To  limping  lines,  and  metre   out  of  joint, — 
To  faulty  rhyme, — lack  of  poetic  skill, — 
To  History  warped,  a  crooked  plot  to  fill, — 
We  bow  submissive;   all  these  faults  we  knew, 
But  hoped  the  tale  might  tempt  the  reader  through  I 
If  it  has  failed,  small  matter  what  is  said, 
To  close  a  tale  doomed  to  remain  unread  ! 

THE   END. 


A  Ride  in  Fancy's  Car. 


In  the  vast  fields  of  space,  one  glittering    Star 

Sends  its  bright  rays  in  greeting  from  afar, 

Set  in  its  destined  place  by  Power  divine, 

Where  Xight's  bright  gems  in  brilliant  clusters  shine; 

So  rich  in   sparkling  wealth  the  bright  display 

Of  jewelled  worlds  that  stud  the  Milky    Way  ! 

A  great  Magician  showed  this  Star  to  me, — 
The  greatest  known  on  earth !    Greater  than  he 
Whose  vaunted  power  Arabian  tales  have  told; 
Whose  magic  changed  vile  clods  to  pearls  and  gold; 
Greater  than  she,  in  Israel's  legends    famed. 
Whose  arts  old  Samuel  from  Death's  bands  reclaimed; 
Than  Eastern  genie,  children  of  the  Sun, 
Or  their  great  conqueror,  mighty  Solomon  I 

Who  is  this  genie  ?    Fancy  is  her  name  ! 
Her  power  can  light  Earth's  deepest  mine  with  flame; 
Dive  to  old  Ocean's  depths— seek  through  his  waves 


80  A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN. 

The   hidden   secrets  of  his  darkest  caves; — 

O'ei-turn  the  hills — delve  to  Earth's  inmost  core, 

And  Nature's  fiery  labyrinths  explore; 

Rise  to  the  Sun — his  molten  mass  defy, 

To  scorch  her  garments,  or  to  daunt  her  eye ! 

This  conjurer,  my  mistress,  servant,  guide, — 
Made  haste  a  fitting  vessel  to  provide. 
Light,  spacious,   warm, — that  might  alike  defy 
The   cold   and   currents  of  the  upper  sky; 
Then  bade  me  enter, — taught  my  hand  to  steer, 
To  start,  to  stop   at  will  its  swift  career; 
What  speed  I  willed,  to  give;    or  slowly  guide 
Through  waves  of  ether,  lightly  dashed  aside. 
No  vulgar  stores  our  magic  craft    requires,— 
No  coal  to  feed  a  cumbrous  engine's  fires ! 
'Tis  Fancy  fiills  her  sails,  and  bids  us  fly, 
As  starward  we  ascend,  my  guide  and  I ! 

Ha !  through  the  clouds  how  swiftly  darts  our  prow, — 
Loud,  rattling  thunder-peals  salute   us  now ! 
Flames  leap  from  cloud  to  cloud, — each  swirling  mass 
Boils  in  electric  tumult  as  we    pass ! 
Below,  the  earth,  bathed  in  the  moon's    pale  light 
Shows  a  dim  disc  receding  from  our  sight, 
Flecked  here  and  there  by  flaky  clouds,  that  glow 
In  the   bright  moonlight  as  they  float  below. 
O'erhead,  what  glories  chain  our  ravished  eyes ! 
There,  heaven's  bright  chart  in  cloudless  brilliance  lies! 
Old  Earth's  dull  atmosphere  behind  us  cast, 
Clear,  tenuous  ether  fills   our  sails  at  last. 
And    buoys  our  bark;    unlimited,  unseen, — 
A  shoreless  ocean,  colorless,  serene, 
And  motionless,  save  where,   by  unknown  force 
Light,  heat,  and  gravitation  hold  their  course, 
And  o'er  its  undulations  speed  their  way 
To  do  the  bidding  of  the  god  of  day! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GKAIX.  81 

Hail,  boundless  Space  !    no  mortal  mind  can  grasp 
The  Infinite  in  thee  !    As  vainly  clasp 
The  sunshine  in  our  arms,  or  change  by  force 
Of  our  weak  hands  the  tempest's  wayward  course, 
As  compass  thee  with  thought !    We  can  but  tell 
That  worlds  unnumbered   in  thy  bosom   dwell ! 
That  Order,   Heaven's   first  law,   holds   endless  sway, 
To  guide  the  myriad  worlds  their  destined  way. 
Through  thy  vast  sea,  whose  every  vassal  wave 
Lieaps  at  the  word,  and  owns  him  Nature's  slave ! 
Great  trackless  waste,  untraversed  and  untrod. 
Save  by  swift  angel  messengers  of  God; 
By  peopled  worlds,  and  worlds  unpeopled  still. 
And  fiery  comets,  working  out  His  will  ! 
Birthplace   of  Matter,  where,  in  nebulous  hoard 
The  great  World-Builder's  ample  wealth  is  stored! 
The  hour  arrives:    the  Almighty  Word  goes  forth, 
New  suns  revolve — new  systems  spring  to    birth. 
New  planets  from  each  parent  sun  are  hurled, 
Each  mass  the  nucleus  of  a  future  world ; 
Huge,  gaseous  spheres;    then,  balls  of  liquid  fire, 
Which,  slowly  cooling,  dross-like  crusts  acquire; 
These,  heaved  by  fierce   eruptions  from  below 
To  Alpine  chains  and  Himalayas  grow ! 
Vapors,  condensed,  descend;    their  gathered  stores 
Seek  the  deep  vales,  and  oceans  wash  their  shores ! 
Swift  rushing  tides  the  crumbling    granite  wear, 
And  to  the  shore  its  sandy  fragments    bear, 
Which,  kissed  by  suns,  and  washed  by  summer  rains, 
Porm  beds  of  loam  that  grow  to  fertile   plains; 
Then  Life,  God's  mystery,  awakes  from  sleep. 
When  His  great  Spirit  broods  upon  the   deep  ! 
Microbe,  mite,  mammal,  in  procession  vast. 
Till  Man,  God's  image,  crowns  His  work  at  last! 

Thus  through  the  night  we  sail,   my  guide  and  I, 


82  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

Till  early  morn  lights  up  the  Eastern  sky. 

Sudden  the  Sun  flames  forth,— no  softened  rays, 

Like  Day's  first  beams  on   earth.    Surprised  we  gaze 

Through  the  blank  sky;    the    starry  hosts  have  fled; 

White  glows  the  vaulted  ether    overhead, — 

Walls  of  pure  white  on  every  side  descend. 

But  no  horizon-line   marks  where  they  end  1 

Sudden  we  glance  below.    O  glorious  sight ! 

A  huge-orbed  world,  bathed  in  the   sun's   full  light 

Rolls  grand  and  lovely  through  the   lower  skies, 

And  hides  the  Nadir  from   our  wondering  eyes  ! 

Full  half  the  space   below,  this  wonder  fills. 

Seas,  islands,  continents — deep-shaded  hills; 

Plains  bathed  in  sunshine;  forests  dark  as  night, 

And   snow-tipped   mountains  alternate   in   sight ! 

The  ponderous  orb   slow   on   its  axis   rolls; 

Wide,  snow-white  girdles  glitter  around  its   Poles; 

While  to  the   West,  where  Night  yet  holds  her  reign 

An  inky  darkness  rests  o'er  sea  and  plain  ! 

Entranced  I  gaze;    with  nervous   hand   I    haste 
To  stay   our  progress  through   the   trackless   waste. 
The  conjurer,   prompt    to  please   my  wayward  will, 
Lends  me  a   glass,  and  bids  me  gaze   my   fill. 
The  magic  tubes  no  sooner  touch  mine   eyes 
Than  at  close  range  all  Earth's  broad  surface  lies ! 
Far  to  the  North,   'mid  huts  of  ice  and  snow. 
Wrapt  in  thick  furs,   see   the   stout   Esquimaux  ^'^^ 
Their  dangerous   labors  ply;    their  frail   barks  g^te 
To  slay  the  bear  that  climbs  yon  iceberg's   side  ! 
Seize  the   shy  seal,   or  with  strong  hearts,  pursue 
The    mighty  norwhal  through  the   liquid  blue  ! 

Southward,  the  snow-belt  ends;    vast   lakes  appear, 
Where  mighty  rivers  end  their  swift  career ! 
Broad  forests  wave,  where  axemen  ply  their  trade; 
The  severed  trunks,  in  mighty  rafts  conveyed, 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  83 

Float  to  the  mills;  (I  see,  but  cannot   hear, 
The  huge  saws  tear  their  hearts  ! )    Then,  lakes  appear, 
Where  heavy-laden  boats  the  billows  breast;— 
Then  iron  tracks  to  East,  and   South,   and  West, 
Gird  the  wide  plain, — o'er  mighty  rivers    span. 
And  through  vast  mountains   smooth  a  path  for  man  I 
Still  further  South  I   sweep,  with  curious    glass; 
A   chain  of  mighty   lakes   in  haste  we   pass. 
Whose  gathered  waters,  to  the  eastward  pressed, 
Plunge   madly  o'er  Niagara's  crumbling  crest. 
To  the  vexed  pool  below; — I  fail  to  hear 
Its  din,   but  see  a  rainbow  arch  appear 
O'er  the  dense  vapor  thrown;    then  glance  away 
Far  Eastward,  where  beside   her  ample   bay, 
The  sunlight  glinting  from  a  thousand  spires, 
A  mighty  city  lies.     From    furnace   fires 
And  myriad  chimney-tops,   in  cloud-wreaths   spread, 
Dull,   smoke-grimed  vapors,   floating   overhead. 
Veil  the  rich  beauty  they   but  partly  hide. 
As  rags  once  draped  Cophetua's  lovely  bride ! 
Beyond,  the  wild  Atlantic  heaves  his  tide. 
I   sw^eep  his  waves,  where   myriad  vessels  glide, 
Teeming  with  life,  their  human  freight  to  pour 
On  western  lands,  from  Europe's  crowded  shore ! 
Ha !    as  I  look,  a  tempest  sweeps  the   main  ! 
I  see  a  bark  tossed  o'er  the  billowy  plain; 
Bravely  she   stems  the   tide;    her  gallant   prow 
Xow  plunges  deep,  mounts   the  steep  billows  now  I 
Her  mate  is  at  the  wheel,    the  captain    stands 
On  the  broad  deck,  and  shouts  his  prompt    commands. 
The  fierce  wind  drives  them  on !    They  hope    to-day 
To  reach  the  waters  of  a   sheltering  bay 
On  the  storm-ravaged  coast.    With  anxious  eyes 
O'er  the  wild  seas  his  glass  the   captain   plies 
For  well-known  landmarks.    Hark !    a  sudden    shock, — 


64  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

The  fated   ship  has  struck  a  sunken  rock ! 

Through  the  stout  plank  the  breakers  force  their  way, 

The  hungry  waters  rush  to  seize  their   prey  ! 

The  scared  crew  swarm  the  deck;  now,  boats  are  seen 

Swung  o'er  the  boiling  waves  !    With  dauntless  mien, 

Cutlass  in   hand,  the  brawny  Captain   stands, 

Checks  the  wild  rush;    then,  o'er  the  bulwarks  hands 

The  trembling  women  first;    appoints  each  crew. 

As  each  frail  bark  is  filled;    gives  courage  new 

To  the  faint-hearted;    keeps  his  place  on  deck 

Till  the  last  soul  leaves  the  fast-sinking  wreck ! 

Grant  they  may  reach  the  shore  !    The  billows  blue 

Kear  their  huge  crests  and  hide  them   from  my  view! 

The  vast  globe,  rolling  East,  in  morning's  glow 
Turns  to  our  eyes  in  panoramic  show 
Hills,  forests,  plains.    I  scan  with  rapid    glass. 
And  name  the  spire-crowned  cities,  as  they  pass 
In  swift  review;    note  with  admiring  eye 
Where  flashing  lakes  bask  'neath  the  sunlit  sky. 
Mark  darkling  rivers  wind  through  woody  dells. 
Then  leap  forth  joyous  where  the  sunlight  dwells, 
Their  placid  bosoms  in  bright  ripples  tossed. 
By  puffing  boats,— or  by  long  bridges  crossed. 
Reflecting  in  their  azure  depths  again 
The  laboring  locomotive's  lengthened  train  ! 
Towns,  cities,  dull  with  bricks,  or  glittering  white 
Of  painted  wood,  shown  in  the  morning  light, 
Dot  here  and  there  the  banks.    One  mighty  stream 
From  the  far  North,  where  its  lake-sources  gleam 
Mid  parent  hills,  I  trace,— now  bright  and  gay 
Now  dark  with  shade,  he  holds  his  devious  way  I 
From  the  far  West  a  sister  river's  tide 
Rolls  in  rude  haste  to  swell  his  growing  pride. 
From  East,  West,  North,  a  hundred  rivers  bring 
Their  watery  tribute  to  the   River-King  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  85 

A  brilliant  scene  now  bursts  upon  my  sight ! 
The  huge  Earth,  rolling  in  its  sea  of  light, 
Holds  to  the  admiring  Suu,  still  marching  west, 
In  glittering  clustars  on  her  queenly  breast 
A  wreath  of  pearly  lakes,  where  he  can  view 
His  dazzling  image  shrined  in  altars  blue. 
Framed  with  dark  forests  round !    Beneath  my  glass 
Their  smooth  waves,  dashed  by  steamers  as  they  pass, 
Dance  in  the  sun's  bright  beams  !    Along  each  shore 
Cities  and  smiling  villages  a  score, 
Bask  in  the  morning  light.     One  mighty  town 
I  note,  where  endless  level  plains  stretch  down 
To  touch  an  emerald  lake  !    O'er  fields  of  green, 
Long-stretching  lines  of  rail,  like  wheel-spokes  seen, 
Converge  within  her  bounds.    My  lenses  show 
Hov/  life  swai-ms  in  her  crowded  streets  below ! 

Great  City  of  the  West !  destined   to  be 
The  greatest  in  the  world  !  through  Faith  I  see 
Thy  growing  grandeur  as   the   years  roll  past. 
Thy  wealth  and  enterprise, — thy  commerce  vast, 
Thy  wondrous  energy,  which,  toward  the   skies, 
From   ashes  bade   thy  towering  structures   rise  ! 
Would  that  my  faith  were   potent  still,  to  show 
Thy  moi'cd  gains  with  wealth  material   grow  ! 
Till,   rich  in  virtuous  men,  thy  name   might  stand 
The   pride   and  glory  of  this  Western  land  ! 

But  the  vast  orb   rolls  Eastward  still,  and  shows 
Broad   fertile   fields  beneath  us  as   it  goes. 
Where   Agriculture  drives  his  plows  afield. 
And   ample  farms  their   cereal  products  yield. 
Beyond,  loom  mountain  peaks ;  Earth's   motion  true, 
Soon  brings  their  rocky  summits  full  in  view. 
Some  capped  with  snow ;  some  rich  in  mineral  store. 
Where  toiling  miners  delve  for  precious  ore. 

And  still  she    rolls,— this  Earth  beneath  my  feet. 


86  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

And  other  views  revolve,  my  eyes"  to  greet ! 
Plains,   dry  and   sandy  as   Sahara's  waste. 
Whose  alkaline  pools  the  thirsty  dare  not  taste ; 
Plains  where  no  flower  can  bloom,  nor  fruitful  tree ; 
Uncheered  by  song  of  bird,  or  hum   of  bee, — 
"Wliere  I,  a  weary  emigrant,  in  pain. 
Drove  patient  oxen,  in  a  lengthened  train, 
"What  time,  when  youthful  hope  my  thoughts  controlled, 
Thy  mines,  Eureka,  fired   my  thirst  for  gold  ! 
Ah,  fruitless  hopes !  those  treasures,  seen  so  plain, 
Proved  but  false,  air-drawn  nuggets  of  the   brain ! 
Yet  Hope  still  traveled  daily  by  my  side. 
Spurred  my   slow  steps,   and  cheered   the  tedious  ride. 
O'er  burning  sands,  parched  by  the  summer's  heat. 
With  drooping  head,   brave  heart,   but  blistered  feet ! 
(Could  I  have  passed   them,  as  they  pass  me  by, 
Revolving  swiftly   'neath  my  glass  and   eye. 
Full  many  a  sigh  were   saved,  and  many  a  groan, 
And   some  profanity,  I'm  bound  to   own  ! ) 

Another  hour  !  Earth's  motion,  swift  and  true. 
Brings  the  majestic  Sierras  in  review. 
Grand  and  sublime  they  rise  !  narrow,  but  tall. 
They  loom  against  the   sky  a  jagged  wall, 
Whose  every  ridge,   and  every  peak  in  sight 
Wears  on  its  crest   a  crown   of  dazzling  white ! 

The  hills  have  passed ;  our  car  now  hovers  high 
O'er  almost  tropic   lands,   in  tropic  sky  ! 
Where  Southern  fruits  mid  Northern  grains  are   found. 
And   Spring  and  Summer   reign,   the   long  year  round  ! 
To  West,  the   Ocean  stretches  fair  to  view, — 
And  Earth  a  ball  now  seems,  half-bound  in  blue. 
Yet,  ere  an  hour  speeds  by,  'tis  blueness  all ! 
The  azure  covering  stretches  o'er  the  ball ! 
And  all  below,  around,   on  every  side 
The  blue  Pacific    spreads  his  convex  tide ! 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  87 

And   now  'tis  dark.    To  aid  the  fading  light 
The  full-orbed  Moon  comes  forth  to  cheer  the   night, 
And  Fancy,  ever  changeful,  turns  her  eyes 
And  steers  our  car  to  pierce  the  upper  skies ! 
Straight  toward  Night's  shining  orb,  through  fields  of  blue, 
And  swifter  far  than  bullet  ever  flew 
From   forceful  gun,   on  murderous   errand  bent 
Fly  we,   up   toward  the   starry  firmament. 
Nor  look  behind,  but  eager,  climb  the  sky. 
So   rapt  are  we,  my  airy  guide  and  I  ! 

How  silent  is  the  Vast !    The  car  we're  in 
Makes  not  a  ripple  in  the   ether  thin ! 
No  milestones  mark  our  flight — no   sight,   no   sound. 
No  life,  no  motion,  jars  the   abyss  profound  ! 
And  awe  o'ercomes  me,  as  our  course   we  trace : 
What  if,   a  wanderer  in  these  realms  of  space, — 
A  lost  soul,  exiled  from  my  kind,  and  given 
No  hold  on  Earth,  no  anchorage   in   Heaven, 
Condemned,   I   float  in  space  through  fields  untrod, 
A  wandering  spirit,  lost  to  man  and   God ! 
I  reel, — I  faint !    Then  a  low  voice  I  hear : 
"  Be  not  dismayed  ;  thy  God  is  ever  near ! 
No  stretch  of  space, — not   Fancy's  wildest  flight, 
Bears  thee  beyond  His  care,   His  pitying  sight  !" 

Cheered  by  the   words,  I   rouse   me   from    my  trance, 
And  gaze  before  me,  through  the   dim   expanse. 
Where  Earth's  fair  Satellite   looms  full  in  view, 
Before  my  speeding  car !    I  mark  its   hue, 
Where   dull,  dead  clay,  and  bare,  discolored  stones 
And   lifeless   soil,  dry  as  a  mummy's   bones 
Tell  of  a  world  long  dead  !    Vast  mountain   chains. 
Stretch  their  huge,  shapeless  mass  through  lifeless  plains, 
Their  seamed   sides  charred  with  fire,   or   ghastly  white 
With   ashes   of  burnt  forests,   pain   the   sight ! 
Whose  darkling  shadows   o'er  the  valleys  vast 


88  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Grim  silhouettes  in  spectral  horror  cast ! 

Nearer  I   draw ;  my  magic  glass  I   seize, 
And  scan  fair  Luna's  features  at  my  ease  ! 
Not  such,  fond  lovers  see,— the  sweet-faced  Mooo, 
Sacred  to  love  and  song!  when  leafy  June 
Or  budding  May  their  ardent  footsteps  move,— 
To  meet  'neath  trysting  tree,  or  sheltering  grove  I 
Or  Poet's   eye,  which,   in  her  shadowy  face, 
A  goddess  fair,  or  angel's  looks  can  trace  ! 
Such  sad  example  proves  the  proverb  true, 
That  "  distance   lends  enchantment  to  the  view ;"" 
A  nearer  look  destroys  the  glamour's  spell, 
And  points   ou)'  planet's   certain   doom   as  well! 
But  can  it  be  ?    What  objects  fill  my  glass, 
And  start  even  Fancy,  as  its  lens  they  pass  ! 
I  rub  the  glass,— my  eyes,— then  look  again ! 
Can  these  be  cities,  towering  o'er  the  plain  ? 
'Tis  true !    I  see   huge  blocks  of  brick  and  stone. 
Wide  streets,  well  paved — as  stately  as   our  own ; 
And  many  a  palace,  many  a  lordly   hall. 
To  tell  of  Pride  that   hastened  to   a  fall! 
I  draw  still  nearer,— ply  my  glass  again, 
Where  many  a  cot  lies  scattered  o'er  the   plain^ 
And  in  the  shadows   of  each  palace  proud. 
Low,   squald   huts,  and   dingy  hovels  crowd  ! 
'•  And  is   it  thus,"  I  sigh ;  "by  Nature's  plan,— 
Must,  in  all  worlds,  man  lord   it  over  man  ? 
Is  there  no  sphere,  free  from  fell  Pride's  alloy. 
Where   equal  fates  are  shared,  and  equal  joy  ? 
Must  there  be  ever  found,  in  every  state. 
The   humble   little,   and  the   haughty  great  ? 

Here   Fancy  twigs  my  ear,  and  call  to  mind 
That  bright   star-world   we'd  started  forth   to   find. 
So   brightly   now  it  gleams,   so    pure,  so   fair, 
'Twere   safe  to   hope   we'll  find  no  trouble  there  I 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  89 

Bids  me  unfurl  my  sails,  nor  tarry  here 
To  mourn  dead  worlds,  when  living   ones  are  near ! 
Yet,  ere  we  launch  again  into  the  Vast, 
Back  toward  my  native   Earth   one   look   I   cast. 
And  view,  delighted,  in  the  midnight  sky. 
Our  radiant  Planet,   in  the  zenith   high. 
Revolving,  grand  and  fair ! — a  sight  to  see 
When  men  lived  here,  and  toiled,  and  gazed,  as  we  ! 
(Though  the  ungenerous  Moon,  the  learned  say, 
Turns  constantly  one   side  the   other  way ! ) 
For,  as  we  wait,  and,  all-enraptured,  gaze, 
Their  well-known   forms  Earth's  continents    upraise. 
White  toward  the  poles,  where,  in  the  Suu's  bright  glow, 
Lie  untrod   regions  of  eternal  snow ! 
Then,  darker  shades,  where  forests  vast  extend, 
Dotted  with  shining  points,  whence  lakelets  send 
The  sun's  rays  back;    then  belts  of  prairie    green. 
Whose   tinge   of  verdure   faintly  can  be   seen 
By  naked  eye;    then,   as  they  eastward  roll 
The  broad  Pacific  spreads  from  pole  to  pole  ! 
Now  Fancy  tugs,  impatient  to   be  gone;^ 
Our  car,  self  driven,  speeds  exultant  on; 
Thin  ether  parts  before,   in  walls  of  glass. 
As  the   Red  Sea,   to  let  pressed  Israel  pass ! 
Behind,  the   lagging  sunbeams  vainly  chase; — 
Each  heart-beat  scores  a  million  leagues  of  space ! 
A  comet  flies  ahead,  in  full  career ! 
I  wave  my  hat ! — we  pass  him  with  a  cheer ! 

"  What  world  is  that   beyond  ?"    I  asked  my  guide. 

"  Tis  Jupiter",   prompt   Fancy  quick  replied ! 

'•  I  fain  would  pause  to  mark  his  wondrous  size  ! " 

"He  moves  too  slow,"  impatient  Fancy  cries  ! 

"  And,  since  his  monstrous  bulk  throujh  Space  was  hurled, 
'Tis  not  yet  cooled  and  hardened  to  a    woiid ! 
Ten  million  years  thou'lt  lie  in   earthly  dust, 


90  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Ere  a  new  Adam  tread  its  cooling  crust ! " 
"Is't  the  bright   Sun  ahead?    I  fear  his   rays, 

Should  our  light  car  his  burning  surface    graze ! " 
"  Behold ! "    my  guide  replies,  "nay,  do  not  fear ! 
'Tis  but  a  second,  and  we  pass  his  sphere ! 
Then,  distanced  by  our  speed,  each  flaming  dart 
Will  cool  its  fiery  point  in  ether's  heart ! " 

I   cast  a  hurried  glance;    with  dazzled  eyes 
I  watch  his  flames  leap  madly  up  the   skies ! 
I  see  vast  arms  of  flame  reach,  fierce  and  tall 
Ten  thousand  leagues  above  the  fiery  ball ! 
I   see  fierce  tempests  rage;    dread  sounds  I  hear, 
And  vast  explosions  shock  my  deafened  ear  ! 
I  gaze;    I  note,  with  awe  to  fear  allied, 
A  hail  of  comets  splash  his  molten  tide ! 
And  fated  worlds,  whose  terms  of  life    expire. 
Plunge  in  that  seething  mass  of  liquid  fire, 
Weighed  in  God's  scales,  perchance,  and  wanting  found, 
They  feed  the  fiames  to  warm  fair  worlds  around ! 

The   Sun  is  passed;    his  planetary    fold 
He  leads  through  fields  of  ether,  as  of  old; 
And  other  suns,  with  other  worlds  in  tow, 
Cross  our  swift  track,  and  to  the  rearward  go. 
Aldebaron,  a  sun  of  wondrous   power, — 
Hot   Sirius, — we   pass  them   in  a  hour  ! 
"  Ha,  my  good  guide  !    what  mighty  ones  are  these  ? " 
"  This   brilliant  group  !    The  world-famed    Pleiades !" 
And  here,  chief  of  all  stars,  which  gem  the  zone 
Of  Night,  we   see  the  brilliant  Alcyone, 
And,  mid  that   Central   Sun's  attendant  train, 
We'll  seek  our  Perfect  World,  nor  seek  in  vain?" 

Thus   Fancy  cried;    and   Hope  leaped  from  a  star 
To  Fancy's  side,  and  helped  her  guide  the  car ! 
Yet,  with  their  vision,  trained  since  time    began 
To  see  brave  sights,  invisible  to  man, — 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  91 

Armed  with  Imagination's  poweiful  glass, 
Full  many   an   hour  in   painful   doubt   we   pass, 
Ere,   'mong  the   hosts   that  glitter,   near  and   far 
We  fix  upon  "that  bright  particular  star ! " 

My  treasure's  found !    Descending  in  my  car, 
I   wonder,   as  I   scan  my  model  star  ! 
Not   brighter  than   our  Earth  its  lustre  glows, 
Nor  larger  to  the   eye   its  outline  shows. 
I   note,  as  round  its  sun  this  planet  rolls. 
It  dips,  like   ours,  its  axis  and  its  poles; 
And  the   same  angle  holds,  which,  science   shows. 
Gives  to  Earth's  polar  zones  their  endless  snows ! 
We   hoped  for  better  things,  my  guide  and  I  ! 
For  Spring  eternal,  'neath  a  cloudless  sky; 
But  as,  in  slow  review  its  features  pass. 
It   looks   another  Earth,  beneath  my  glass ! 
Seas,  continents,   hills,  valleys,  wood,  and  plain. 
All   seem  to  duplicate  our  own  again ! 
Even  desert  wilds,  and  ice-bound  realms  appear, 
S  wamps  miasmatic,   stagnant,   dark  and  drear; 
Parched  torrid  belts,  which  shade  and  Avater  need, 
And  rocky  wastes,  too   poor  their  sons  to  feed ! 

I  heave  a  sigh  with  disappointment  fraught; 
Even  Fancy's  drooping  wings  svistain  her  not ! 
'As  well,"  she  cries,  "might   Earth  herself  appear, 
A  model  world,  to   stranger  hovering  near  ! 
Hath  our   long  voyage  failed  ?    Must  I  confess, 
Fancy's  no  certain  guide  to  Happiness? 
Yet,  should  this  venture  but   a  failure  prove 
'Tis   Fancy  only  leads  to   happy  Love  ! 
And,  even  on  Earth,  where  few  can  rank  as  blest, 
Imagination's  joys  lead  all  the  rest ! 
Yet,  ere   sad  Fancy,   self-condemned,  give    way. 
Approach  we  nearer,   and  our  goal  survey  !  " 

Swift  toward  the  spinning  globe  our  car   descends, 


92  A   SHEAF  OF   GKAIN. 

And  hovers,  where  a  boundless  plain    extends, 

Whose  every  teeming  rood,   beneath  us  seen. 

Lies  rich  in  plants,  or  clothed  with   meadows  green. 

No   fence  offends  the  eye,   or  wastes  the   space. 

Where  plants  might  grow,  or  trees   the  landscape  grace! 

Broad  streets  at  intervals  the  plats  divide, — 

Well  gi-avelied  walks  and  alleys    clean  and  wide 

In  lines   symmetrical  each   field   surround. 

Or  bend  to   suit  the   undulating  ground. 

On  each  wide,  graveled,  street,  'neath  shading  trees. 
Low,  spacious  cottages  the  gazer  sees, 
Their  white  walls  peeping  through  the   foliage  green, 
With   verdant  lawns,   and  fruitful   trees    between,— 
Not  crowded,  as  Earth's  cities  ever  stood. 
But  near  enough   for   social   neighborhood, 
And  all  alike  !    No  towering  structure   here 
Throws  shame  upon  an  humbler  dwelling  near! 
Yet  all  seem  homes  where  Happiness  might   dwell. 
Where  Youth  mights  joy,  and  Age   be   sheltered  well! 
But  pride,   and  luxury,  and  pomp  and   show 
Find  naught  to   feed  upon,   nor  room   to   grow  ! 

Now  Fancy  seized  the  helm :  we   sailed  away 
Beyond  the  plains,  to  where  rough  regions  lay, 
Where  Agriculture  poorer  products  yields, 
And  scanty  harvests  clothe  the  barren    fields. 
Surprised  I  look  !    Even  Poverty  is  blest  ! 
These   mountain   homes  are   equal  to   the   best ! 
Though  thin  their  soil,— though  rocks  rough  barriers  rear. 
Comfort  and  Plenty  force   their  entrance   here ! 
The  mountain's  rugged  side,  the  valley  deep. 
Feed  with  sweet  grass  the  wool-producing  sheep  ; 
And,  from   their  woody  flanks,   and   summits  high, 
The    useful  pine  and  sturdy  oak  supply. 
And  when  their  stalwart  sons,   too   numerous  grown. 
Swarm   from  their  hives  to  fields   before  unknown, 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  93 

Their  sinews,  hardened  in  the  mountain  land, 
Win  welcome,  where  strong  limbs  are  in  demand  ! 

Curious,  I  curb  my   Fancy's  further   flight. 
And  'mong  the  sons  of  men,  unseen    alight ! 
I  con  the  strangers  o'er :    I  search  in  vain 
For  care-worn  brow,   bowed  form,  or  twinge  of  pain  ; 
Youth  sportive  seems,  of  course ;  'tis  Nature's  way ;-  - 
Stout  Manhood  calmer  looks,  yet  blithe  and  gay ; 
Age,  happy  and  serene  ;  his  locks  of  snow 
Wave  round  smooth  cheeks,  where  ruddy  Health  doth  glow  1 
And  o'er  all  ranks, — in  eyes,  in  mien,  in  face, 
A  kindly,  loving  spirit  sheds  its  grace,— 
A  kinship  which  no   selfishness  can  brook, 
Shrined  in  each  heart,  acknowledged  in  each  look  ! 
I  seek  their  homes ;   no  keys  their  doors  require, 
The  stranger  aye  hath  shelter,  food  and  fire ; 
I  scan  their  food:   I  note  their  midday  meal : 
No  flesh  of  bird  or  beast  they  boards  reveal ; 
But,  smoking  from  each  kitchen's  ample  hearth 
Are   herbs   and   roots  well   known  to   sons  of  Earth,. 
And  wheaten  bread,  and  fruit  of  plum  and  pear, 
And  golden  apples  piled  in  plenty  there ; 
And  ruddy  grape,  and  luscious  peach  attest 
That  Cultivation  here  hath  done  her  best. 
And,  though  their  fruits  and  ours   show  common  birth 
They'd  take  the  prize   o'er  aught  we  show  on   earth  I 

And  now  my  Fancy  'mong  the  crowd  I  sent 
To  learn  their  speech,  their  forms  of  government, 
Their  habits,  feelings,   hopes ;  to  watch  unseen, 
Their  modes  of  toil ;  their  history  to  glean. 
Like  Noah's  dove  she  left ;  like  her,  alack. 
She  came  again,  but  brought  slight  tokens  back  ! 
(Be  not  impatient,  readers  one  and  all : 
Tis  but  a  puny  Sprite  attends  my  call  ! ) 
This  is  the   story  told  my  guide   one  day 


94  A   SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

As  on  a  mountain's  side  discoursing  lay 

My  Fancy  and  a  Sage,  whose  thoughtful   eyes 

And  whitened  locks  bespoke   him  old  and  wise : 

"  Here,  in  a  garden,  rich  in  herbage  rare 
Their  life  began  our  first  created  Pair. 
Whence   came  their  breath  of  life,  is  far  from  clear, — . 
We  only  know,  God  made  and  placed  them  here  ! 
The  God  who  made  the   world,  made  Man,  and  gave 
To  him  dominion  over    land  and  wave. 
Bade  him  hold  sway,   but  as  God's  agent  still, 
Obey  His  laws,  and  work  his  Master's  will. 

"Tradition  saith,  a  Tempter  found  their  bower, 
And  sought  to  tempt  them  in  an  evil  hour ; 
But,  to  their  God,  themselves,  and  Duty  true, 
They  scorned  his  lies,  and  his  allurements  too  ! 
The  Tempter  fled  ;  nor  ever  from  that  day. 
Hath  evil  lured  the  sons  of  men  astray  ! 

"One  Golden  Rule,  God  gave,  to  aid  his  plan ; 
"Feab  God:    Do  Right;   and  Love  thy  Fellow-man!" 
Few  words  it  hath  ;  for  words  there's  little  need ; 
They  cannot  err,  who  steer  them   by  this  creed  ! 
Our  Laws  are  few,  which  Age  to  Youth  imparts ; 
We  have   our   Statutes  written  on  our  hearts ! 
Our  wise  men  counsel  give,  from  day  to  day; — 
They  teach  in  love,  and  we  in  love  obey ! 
All  men  have   equal  rights :  the  wise,  the  great. 
Live  simply  as  the  weakest  in  the  State  ! 
Each  earns   his  daily   bread :  his  living   sure. 
Each  gives  his  surplus  freely  to  the   poor  ! 
If  drouth,  or   blight,  or  storm  the  price  enhance 
And  wants  vex  some,  'tis  Plenty's  valued  chance, 
And  want  receives,  with  independence   quite. 
Not  as  an  alms,  but  as  his  lawful  right  ! 

"In  public  granaries   our  wealth  is   stored. 
Where  all  who  labor   keep  their  garnered  hoard, 


A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  95 

Subject  to  draft  at  will ;  the  state  hath  power 
To  aid  the  needy  in  their  suffering  hour, 
And  to  the  tillers  of  less   fruitful  soil 
To  equalize  their  comforts  and  their  toil  ! 
Thus  doth  the  fruitful  valley  gladly  give 
Its  surplus,  that  poor  mountaineers  may  live, 
And  freely:   for  despite  all  ills  that  fall, 
The  generous  soil  gives  ample  food  for  all ! 

"Our  wants  are  simple;  blest  with  strength  and  health. 
Why  should  we   care  to  stoje  unneeded  wealth? 
Our  hours  of  toil  are  short;  the  rest   are   due 
To  friendly  intercourse ;  to  study,  too ! 
The  old  delight  to  teach;    the  young,  who  yearn 
For  knowledge,  flock  to  schools,  the  truth  to  learn; 
And  Science,  free   from  mercenary  bent, 
Scans  the  wide  world,  and  sweeps  the  Firmament; 
And  with  clear  glasses,  swung  on  turrets  high, 
Studies  far  worlds  that  dot  the  upper  sky  ! 
Prints  in  fair  books  the  wisdom  gained  by  years. 
Solves  Nature's  complex  laws  that  rule  the  spheres; 
And  by  the  chemist's  skill  gross  things  refines. 
And  various  substance  in  new  shapes  combines. 

"You  ask,  is  Money  known  ?    I  think  I  guess 
Your  meaning,  though  'tis  dark,  I  must  confess  ! 
For  garnered  grain  or  other  goods  in  store, 
I  take  a  check, — that  tells  its  worth,  no  more  ! 
It  represents  the  estimated  days 
Spent  in  the  fields,  that  store  of  grain  to  raise ! 
On  that,  I  draw  at  will;  the  check  I  hold 
May  to  my  neighbor  for  his  goods  be  sold. 
He  makes  warm  shoes,  or  boards  to  shed  the  rain, 
I  buy  his  wares,— he  buys  my  surplus  grain. 
Why  should  I  hoard  these  checks  ?    Why  swell  my  store  ? 
I  have  enough  !    what  boots  to  gather  more  ? 

"Have  we  ambitions,— hopes,— to  stir  our  blood  ? 


96  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Our  veins  course  not  with  fierce,  impetuous  flood ! 

Nor  need  we,  for  our  liealthful  liappiness 

To  stimulate  to  ardor,  or  excess ! 

Excitement  is  disease;  the  brain  it  turns, — 

'Tis  but  a  fever,  while  its  passion  burns! 

We  live,  we  learn,  we  love,— we  do  our  parts; 

Our  children  come;  they  cheer  our  loving  hearts; 

We  see  them  grow  in  health,  in  virtue's  ways; 

In  peace  we  toil;  in  joy  we  end  our  days  ! 

In  other  worlds,  hath  life  more  gifts  in  store  ? 

We  ask  them  not;    our  cup  is  running  o'er ! " 

"But  have  we  then  no  /lope  beyond  the  grave? 
Nay,  'tis  a  certainty  the  righteous  have," 
The  aged  man  replied; — and  cast  his  eyes 
In  ecstasy  toward  the  placid  skies. 
As  one  who,  certain  of  his  life's  reward 
Looks  with  indifference  on  his  pallet  hard, 
His  rugged  toils,— but  turns,  with  longing   fond, 
To  endless  joys  and  endless  youth  beyond! 

Scarce  had  my  airy  guide   her  story  told 
When  Hope   sprang  buoyant  up,  and  'gan  unfold, 
(As,   in  our  car  again  our  seats  we  took. 
O'er  the  dense,  peopled  plains  once  more  to  look, 
Whose  sons,  unvexed  by  plague,  unthinned  by  war 
Fill  her  broad  lands,  and  islands  near  and  far,) 
A  dream  she  oft  had  dreamed;  how,  peace  to  win, 
Our  Earth  had  banished  Selfishness  and  Sin ! 
How  Happiness,  armed  with  the  Gospel  Plan 
Built  her  waste  places  up,  and  dwelt  with  Man ! 
Then  Fancy,  building  castles  in  the  air. 
Touched  their  aerial  spires  with  colors  rare, 
Drew  unpretentious  homes,  with  plenty  blessed. 
Dotting  the  prairies  of  the  fruitful  West; 
With  boundless  wealth,  in  fair  division  shown, — 
No  rich,  no  poor,  no  want,  no  surfeit  known  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  97 

And  thus  we  talked,  nor  saw  how,  earthward  drawn 
Our  car  hung  fluttering  at  early  dawn 
O'er  Earth's  fair  face  again  !    The  place  I  guessed; 
Twas  the  rich  prairie  belt  that  girds  the  West! 
I  see  a  city,  on  a  mighty  lake; 
My  car  descends;   my  well  known  walk  I  take, 
To  where,  mid  costly  blocks,  and  structures  grand 
I  mark  in  front  a  stately  palace  stand. 
Where  merchants  come,  to  ply  the  arts  of  Trade, — 
Where  fortunes  in  an  hour  are  lost,  and  made ! 
Where  the  vast  products  of  a  million  farms, — 
The  labor  of  ten  million  brawny  arms, — 
The  wealth  those  arms  create  by  honest  toil. 
Are  made  the  gambler's  prize,  the  robber's  spoil ! 
I  see  vast  wealth,  ground  out  by  Labor's  mill. 
But  poverty,  that  turns  it,  poorer  still ! 
I  see  the  Rich  by  cloying  surfeit  cursed. 
The  Poor  by  want ! — ( who  knows  which  suffers  worst ! 
For  still  the  rich  for  greater  riches  sigh. 
As  doth  the  poor  with  gnawing  hunger  cry ! ) 
I  see  Earth's  sons,  in  angry   strife   and   brawl. 
Scramble   for  food,  where  Plenty  grows  for  all ; 
With  eager  eyes,  and  blind,   insatiate  greed 
The  rich  still  gather  gold  they  do  not  need. 
But  hoard  in  gloomy   vaults  from  light  of  day. 
While  beggars   starve  for  that  they  hide  away  ! 
I  see  Want  nourish  Crime ;  in  prisons  vast 
I  see  ten  thousand    needy  culprits  cast, 
I  see  the  orphaned  boy,  despairing,  turn. 
And  steal  the  bread  he  has  no  chance  to  earn ! 
I  see  the  burglar  break  the  banker's  hold, 
And  from  the  railroad-wrecker  wrest  his  gold, — 
That  gold  which,  parted  in  division  fair, 
The  robber  need  not  rob  to  get  his  share ! 

I  bid  my  Fancy  rest— I  turn  to  Sense ! 


98  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

I  ask:  Will  Wisdom  rule,  some  ages  hence  ? 
Will  the  Millenium  come,  foretold  of  yore, 
And  Selfishness  and  Sin  be  known  no  more  ? 
Till  then,  in  vain  with  laivs  we  bind  the  land: 
As  well  tie  Ocean  down  with  ropes  of  sand ! 
No  human  codes  to  Brotherhood  can  move, — 
The  heart,  now  hard,  must  soften  into  Love ! 
Take,  for  its  rule  of  Life,  this  simple  plan; 
"Fear  God;  do  right;  and  love  thy  fellow-man! 


From  the  Sacramento  Uuion,  (Cal.) 
COME  OUT  TO  THK  >A^EST! 


Come  out  here,  my  friends,  to  this  Land  of  the    West, — 
To  our  new-founded  "Araby,  balmy   and  blest !  " 
There  is  health  in  her  breezes,  and  wealth  in  her  soil, 
Which  she  offers  to  all  as  the  guerdon  of  toil. 
Oh,  leave  far  behind  you  those  sordid  domains 
Where  Wealth  over  Merit  so  haughtily  reigns  ! 
Where  ignorance,  selfishness,  meanness  and  sin 
Are  all  cloaked  by  the  gauds  which  she  decks  herself  in, 
Where  poverty  meekly  sits  under  the  thrall. 
Nor  resents  the  rude  blows  proud  Oppression   lets  fall, 
Where  Justice   is  blind,  and   Religion  is  deaf. 
Where  the  weak  raise  their  voices  and  hands  for  relief. 
Come,  hardy  backwoodsman !    'tis  here  you  may  toil, 
With  no  landlord  to  pounce  on  the  fruits  of  your  soil ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  99 

Come  out,  stalwart  Youth,  to  God's  free,   open  field, 
The  rock-rending  pick  and  the  shovel  to   wield. 
Come  out,  tired  Manhood,   from   debt  and   despair, 
Leave  your  close,  stifling  shops    for  the  life-giving  air, 
For  a  couch  on  the   sod,  in  the   summer  nights  dry, 
Where  the  hills  are  your  walls  and  your  roof  is  the  sky ! 
Come  out  here  young  maidens,  who  smiles  shall  reward, 
And  brighten  our  labors,  through  rugged  and  hard  I 
Oh,  come  to  the  land  girt  by  mountain  and  sea. 
Whoe'er  would  be  rich,  independent  and  free  ! 

Would  you  live  in  a  land  where  no  Winter  is  known  ? 
Which  unites  all  the  beauties  of   Earth's  every  zone? 
Where  a  Sabbath-day's  journey  from   mountain  to  plain 
Leaves  the   snow-crowned   hill-top  for  fields  golden  with  grain? 
Would  you  gaze  on  those  hills   on  whose  cloud-piercing  crests 
The  snow,  pure  and  shining,  eternally  rests  ? 
Would  you  see  the  vast  Ocean  her  rocky  coast  lave 
As  the  sun  dips  at  evening  beneath  his  blue  wave  ? 
Would  you   help   found  a  race   as  free  and  as  strong. 
And  as  brave  as  e'er  flourished  in  story  or  song? 
Would  you  carve  out  a  fortune  and  build  you  a  home, 
With  a  race  of  such  sjjirits  as   founded  old  Rome  ? 
Would  you  live   among  men  who  are   worthy  the    name. 
And  of  sires  that  o'er  seas  in  the   Mayflower  came  ? 
Would  you  rear  up  your  children  bold,   hardy  and  strong 
True   scions  of  the  old  stock  to   which  they  belong? 
Would  you  help  bend  the  twig  just  shooting  to  birth. 
To  grow  up  the  fairest  e'er  planted  on  earth 
'Xeath  the  shade  of  v\^hose  branches  our  children  shall  rest 
Rich  in  all  of  Earth's  blessings  ?    Then  come  to  the    West  ? 

J.  W.  T. 

Sacramento,  Cal.,  Feb'y  2G,  1852. 


100  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 


From    the  Sacramento    Union. 
THOUGHTS  OF"  HOIVIE. 


Must  there  stretch  between  us  ever 

Deserts  vast  and  oceans  wide ! 
Still  must  plains  and  mountains  sever, 

Time  and  space  our  souls  divide  ? 
And  while  distance  thus    doth  part  us, 

Must  Time's  current  still  run  on. 
Till  lost  years,  when  noted,  start  us, 

Ere  my  pilgrimage  be  done  ? 

Yet,  what  are  miles  and  leagues  unnumbered 

When  thought  o'erleaps  them   at  a  bound  ? 
Thought,  which,  all  free  and  unencumbered, 

Nor  skims  the  air  nor  treads  the  ground, 
But  scarce  has  left  his  master's   soul, — 

A  genie  prompt  to  do  his  mission 
Ere,  presto !   it  has  reached  its  goal. 

All  matchless  in  its  swift  transition. 

The  lightning  on  the  wire  rides  fast,-- 

The  iron  horse  is  fleet  in  motion, 
And  swiftly  flies  before  the  blast 

The  noble   ship  that  plows  the  ocean; 
But  not  the  vessel,  nor  the  car, 

Nor  scarce  the  Avire-winged  mail-magician 
Can  in  their  vaunted  speed    compare 

With  Thought,  when  speeding  on  its    mission 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN,  101 

Thought  waits  upon   our  waking  hours, 

Obedient  to  the   soul's  command, 
Submits  its  will,  its  wondrous  powers 

Slave  to  that  great  magician's  wand; 
But  sleep  steals  o'er  the  ruling  spirit, 

Dissolves  its  spells,  and  thought  is  free  I 
No    guiding  hand  to  check  or  steer  it. 

It  roves  the  land  and  skims  the  sea  I 

But  not  alone  through  space  it  ranges, 

Brighter  than  Iris,   free  as   air. 
It  glides  through  Time's  unceasing  changes 

And  mingles  Past  and  Present  there ! 
In  dreams  it  revels  in  past  pleasures, — 

Delights  in  joys  of  other  climes. 
And  treads   in  gay,   fantastic  measures 

Through  the  bright  maze  of  happy  times  I 

But  when  the   stranger,   sad  and  lonely, 

Sinks  into  sleep  in  foreign  lands. 
Thought  roves  no  more,   but   homeward  only 

Is  led  by   Memory's  faithful   hands  ! 
And  Home  !    how   rich   in  light  and   lustre 

When  in  the  haze  of  dreamland  seen  ! 
How  thick  its  joys  and  beauties    cluster. 

How  bright  its  flowers — its  fields  how  green  I 

The  brightest   suns  shine   down  to  gild  it— 

The  sweetest  bird-notes  fill  the  air, — 
Heaven's  purest  atmosphere  has  filled  it, 

And  Heaven  itself  seems  pictured  there  I 
Pictured  ?    No,— Heaven's  an  airy  region 

Where  spirits  float  in  joy  and  bliss, 
And  spirits,  an  uncounted  legion 

In  dreams  create  a  Heaven  like  this  I 


102  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Thus  doth   our  every  hill  and    valley 

By  night  pour  forth  its  spirit-band; 
O'er  mountains,   plains  and  seas  they  sally 

And  swiftly  reach  the  Eastern  land  ! 
How   often,   'mid  these   happy   rovers 

My  wandering  fancy  plies   her   wings, — 
Till  o'er  my  Home   she  gaily   hovers, 

And  there  she  checks  her  wanderings  I 

There  stands  the  gray  old  homestead  near   me; — 

The  open  gate  bids  welcome  fair. 
Voices  of  mirth  ring  out  to  cheer  me. 

And  joy  and  peace  seem  reigning  there. 
And  now  the  "  watch-dog's  honest  barking " 

"  Bays   deep-mouthed   welcome "   from  the   door, 
And  well-known  friends,  in  pleasure  starting 

Across  the  threshold  seem  to   pour. 

Each  beaming  eye  speaks  joy  unbounded, — 

Each  outstretched  hand  seeks  out  my  own ; 
Sure,  ne'er  was  monarch  thus  surrounded 

With  faithful  hearts,  though  on  his  throne  ! 
Ah,  home !  if  thus  in  dreams  we  love  thee, — 

If  thus  thy  charms   can  cheer  our   sleep. 
How  will  reality  improve  thee 

When  soul  and  sense  thy   joys  shall  reap ! 

Who  that  hath  crossed  the  stormy  ocean, 

Or  toiled  o'er  mountain,  flood  and  plain, 
But  looked  with  hope  and  strong  emotion 

To  see  his  distant  home  again  I 
Parched  on  the  desert,  tossed   on  billows, — 

Threatened  with   death  by  land   or   sea. 
One  blissful  image  haunts  our  pillows : 

'Tis  then,  "  sweet  Home,"  we  dream   of  thee ! 

J.  W.  T. 

Sacramento,  Gal.,  April  20,  1852. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  103 


A  SONG. 


Dedicated  to  the  ^^Governor^s  Guards"  and  sung  at  the  American 
Theatre,  by  Wm.  S.  Bixgham,  at  his  Benefit,  July  29,  1852. 


While  our  earth  was  yet  young,  and  her  sons  free  and  strong, 
Her  bravest  and  noblest  sought  glory  in  battle; — 

Their  bold   deeds  still  live  in  the  blazon  of  song. 

Where  their  spears  brightly  gleam  and  their  swift  chariots 
rattle, 

Even   now  in  our  day,   when  old  Earth  has  grown  gray. 

And  the  clear  sun  of  Science   sheds  light  on  our  way, 
There's  a  halo  of  glory,  and  bright  may  it   wave 
O'er  the  soldier's  rough  path,  and  the  hero's  low   grave  ! 

When  the  glorious  Thirteen,   on  the   Fourth  of  July 

Called  their  sons  to  the  struggle  that  made  us  a  Nation, 
The  Atlantic's  glad  waves  bore  their  fearless  reply 

To  the  tyrants  abroad  in  their  great  Declaration  ! 
Now  the  West  shouts  again  a  response  o'er  her  main. 
And  the   snow-crowned  Nevada  re-echo  the   strain, 

'Tis   the   chorus  of  glory,   and   long  may   it   wave. 

O'er  the  soldier's   brave  deeds,  and  the   hero's  low  grave ! 

When  Rome  proudly  rose  'mong  the  barbarous  hordes. 
Built  and  bulwarked  by  exiles  and  immigrant   strangers, 

'Twas  her  disciplined  guards,   and  her  ever  bright  swords 
Brought  the  young  giant  safe  through  a  legion  of  dangers  ! 


104  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Born  like  Rome  then,  our  State  will  grow   mighty   and   great 
While  her  "  Guards,"  trained  and  valiant,   her  bidding  await, 
Till  a  laurel-wreath  twine  round  the   brow  of  each  brave, 
Or  the  tears  of  the  free  wash  the  sod  o'er  his  grave ! 

And  this  be   our  answer  when  scoffers   abroad 
Say  our  gold   has  absorbed  every  noble  emotion. 

We've  stout  hearts  and  strong  hands  to  defend  our  loved   sod, 
Though   beleaguered  by  land  and  menaced  from  the  ocean, 

From    each    town,    far    and    near,    her  brave  "Guards"    will 
appear. 

And  their  bright  swords  will  flash   while  a  foemau  is  here. 
And  Eureka  her  banner  in  triumph  still  wave 
O'er  the  "  land  of  the  free  and  the   home  of  the   brave !" 

J.  W.  T. 

Sacramento,  Cal.,  July  29, 1852.    • 


From  the  Chicago  Tribune. 
SOUTH    CAROLINA'S   ULTIMATUM. 


We're  a  mighty,  new  -  born  Nation 
Sprung  to  life  and  power  and  station. 
Just  by  seizing  the  occasion 

Of  elections  in  the   North. 
For  we've  cut  in  indignation 
From  the  old  confederation 
With  its  "black  amalgamation," 

Abolition,  and  so  forth  1 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  105 

And  we've  snubbed  our  Uncle  Sam,   sir 
For  that  potentate's   a  sham,   sir. 
And  we  do  not  care  a  d n,  sir, 

For  his   little   puny  arm ! 
We  could  whip  him  single-handed ; 
But  if  succor  we  demanded 
Foreign  troops  would  soon  be  landed 

Lest  our  cotton  come  to   harm  ! 

For  Great  Britain,  France  and  Russia, 
Spain,  and  Austria,  and   Prussia, 
With  sloop,  man-of-war  and   cruiser 

To  King  Cotton's  aid  would   sail. 
All  your    ports  they  would    blockade,   sir 
And  your  Yankee  land  invade,  sir, 
In  a  second  grand   Crusade,  sir 

To  set  free  the   Cotton  Bale  ! 

And  we're  mighty,  too,  in  figures,— 

We've  "  four  hundred  thousand   niggers," — 

And  we  talk  of  pullinj  triggers 

Storming  forts,  and   marching  North ; 
And  if  Lincoln,  the  much-  hated 
Dares  to  be  inaugurated 
Please  to  note,  his  doom  is  dated 

From  that  fatal  March  the  Fourth ! 

So  we  warn  each  Northern  coward. 
You  are  sure  to  be  devoured 
By  our  lions  from  the  Sou'ward, 

Led  by  Keitt,  Rhett,  and  W^ise ! 
So  you'd  best  go  in  for  "fusion",— 
And  amend  your  Constitution 
Bow  before  our  "Revolution", 

Seeking  favor  in  our  eyes ! 


106  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

You  must  let  us  fret  our  fill,  sirs, 
Whip  o\iT  slaves  at  Bunker-hill,  sirs, 
Carry  Slavery  where  we  will,  sirs, — 

Own  that  Slavery  is  right! 
You  must    change  public  opinion 
And  throughout  the  whole  dominion. 
You  must  whip  and  gag  and  pinion 

All  who  speak  in  its  despite ! 

Then  we'll  take  off  the   embargo, 
Bring  in  niggers  by  the  cargo, 
(Just  as  far  as  we  will  dare  go, 

Lest  the  British  lion  roar!) 
Then  we'll  buy  Cuba,   or  take  her. 
Coax  old  Spain  to  sell,  or  make  her,— 
Aud  for  Mexico,  we'll  rake  her, 

Gaining  slave  states  three  or  four ! 

If  you'll  stand  this,  you  "poor  devil,"* 
And  be  humble,    meek  and  civil, 
Though  the  Union  is  an  evil, 

We'll  endure  it  for  a  spell ; 
But  you  Yankees  must  knock  under, 
And  for  fear  of  any  blunder, 
"If  we  cannot  have  the  plunder. 

Let  the  Union  go  to  h ?/"t 

J.  W.  T. 
*  Name  for  all  working  men.    f  Quotation   from  Southern  speech. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


107 


From  the  Chicago  Tribune. 
HO  '    KOR   COMPROMISE 


War  beacons  blaze  on  Southern  hills, — 
On  Southern  plains  armed  hosts  review, — 

War's  clarion  blast  the   country  fills, 
And  what  can  ,we  poor  Yankess  do 
But  "  Compromise  ? 

They've  seized  our  friends  among  them  found,— 
Their  only  crime  their  Northern  birth,— 

Hung,  tarred  and  feathered,  gagged  and  bound, 
Till  we've   no  remedy  on  earth 

But  "  Compromise ! 

They  tramp  our    banners  'neath  their  feet, — 
They  storm  our  forts,  our  mints  they  seize,— 

Our  stolen  vessels  swell  their  fleet, — 
Such  daring  foes  we'd  best  appease 

By  "  Compromise !" 

Our  Northern  conscience  is  too  nice. 

Religion  but  fanatic  zeal ! 
Let's  change  our  doctrines  in  a  trice, 

And  all  we  hope,  and  think,  and  feel, 
For  "  Compromise  !" 

Let  party  platforms  pass  away. 
Our  fathers'  creeds  and   faith  be   spurned, 


108  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Even  sacred  Freedom   we'll  betray, 
And  all  that  Freedom's  cause  has  earned. 
For  "  Compromise !" 

Let  Justice  throw  his  scales  away, 

Humanity  go  weep  in   vain ; 
For  we,  to  uphold   King  Cotton's   sway. 

Must  train  the  hound  and  forge  the   chain's. 
And  "Compromise  !" 

What  though  our  country's  name  be   stained, 

What  though   Heaven's  favor  we  forego, 
"The  Union,  sirs,  must  be  maintained!" 
So,  strike   her  colors  to  the  foe, 

And  "  Compromise !" 

Let  Washington  in  odium  rot. 

While  great  Jeff.  Davis  takes  his  place ; 

Let  Jackson's  firmness  be   forgot. 
While  weak-kneed  statesmen  shriek  for  grace 
And  "Compromise  !" 

No  "  force  bill "  fills  the  South  with   fears  ! 

"  Closed  ports "  would  chafe  their  fiery  mood  ! 
"  Coercion "  grates  on  Southern  ears  ;— 
We'll  deal  with  traitors  dyed  in  blood 
By  "Compromise  !" 

Virginia!  make  your  "just  demands  !" 
Texas  !  thy  wrongs  shall  be  redressed ! 

And  South  Car'lina's  gentle   hands 

May  crack  the  whip   o'er  all  the  rest ! 

We'U  "  Compromise !" 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  111.,  Feb'y  17,  1861. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  109 


Written  at   Fort  Donelson,  Tenn. 
TO  IVIY  >VIRE  AT  HOME. 


It  is  a  dark  and  stormy  day,  and  here  I  sit  alone, 

And  ponder    o'er   the    dreamy    Past,— o'er    precious    moments 

flown. 
The  sweet  communion  with  my  friends,  that  cheered  my  path 

in  life, 
But  most  upon  the  happy  years  since  you  became  my  Wife ! 
My  own  true-hearted  wife — my  precious,  faithful  wife, 
Whose    sunny    smile    could    Care    beguile,    and    give    new 
charms  to    life. 

Our  Northern  land  is  bleak  enough,  in  Winter's  rugged  reign, 

And   oft  we  sigh  for  milder  climes,    and  wait    for    Spring    in 
vain. 

But    Winter's    evenings    have    their    charms,    and    stormy  days 
are  dear. 

When,  gathered  round  our  warm  firesides,  our  loved  ones  all 
are   near 
And  there  I  join   my   wife,   my  kind  and  cheerful   wife, 
Whose   sunny  face   illumes  the  place,  and   gilds    my  hum- 
ble  life. 

Here  dwell  we  in  the    "Sunny   South,"   where    Winter's  reign 

is  mild, 
But    blood    has    stained    her   valleys   rich,    and   drenched    her 

mountains   wild; 


110  A  SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

And  armies  tread  her  fruitless  fields,  and  spoil  her  garnered 

store, 
And  widowed  wives  and  orphan  babes  their  hapless  lot  deplore 
But  Northward  dwells  my  wife,  my  children  and  my  wife. 
Those  plains,  though  cold,  in  safety  hold    my  bairns    and 
precious  wife  ! 

These  haughty  dames  in    Dixie's    land    would    scorn    her  toil- 
stained  hands. 
For  dusky  slaves  attend  their   will,  and    wait    on    their    com- 
mands; 
They  waste  in  idleness  their  days,   and  neither  toil  nor  spin. 
Nor  heed  God's  law  to  fallen  man,  by  sweat  his  bread  to  win! 
But  thank  God  for  my  wife,  my  brave,  hard-working  wife, 
Our  board  is  spread    with    toil- earned     bread,    and    labor 
sweetens  life  ! 

Then  from  the  banks   of  Cumberland,  and  hills  of  Tennessee, 

Though  dark  and  stormy  is  the  day,    I'll    drink    a    health    to 

thee ! 

I'll  fill  my  glass  at  yonder  spring,   and  quaff  with  right  good 

will 

To  our  noble,  grand  old    Prairie    State,    our    home     through 

good  and  ill ! 

And  to  my  true-hearted  wife,  my  gentle  Northern   wife. 

My  noble  State,  my  precious  mate,  the    dearest  boons  of 

life! 

J.  W.  T. 
Dec.   15,  1862. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  Ill 


THE  ASSASSINATION. 


Written  on  receiving  the  news,  at  Clarksville,  Tenn.,  of  the  mur- 
der of  President  Abraham  Lincoln. 


The   Statesman,  Sage,  and  Patriot,  is   dead  ! 

The  Pilot  of  our  Ship   of  State  is  lost ! 
Death's  murderous  shaft  has  bowed  that  towering  head 

Which,  when  our   bark,  storm-beat  and  tempest-tossed 
Drove  floundering  on,  o'er  rock,   and  reef,  and  bar 

Still  'neath  the  beating  storm  could  aye  be  seen 
Firm   at  the   helm, — amid  the   doubtful  war 

Of  hostile  elements,  bold,  calm,  serene  ! 

Full  oft  her  crew,  with  imprecations   loud 

Have  sought  to  swerve  him   from  his  course    in  vain; 
Full  oft  before  the  gale   her  masts  have   bowed. 

Which  drove   her  headlong  o'er  the  watery    plain  ! 
And  some  grew  faint, — and  some  were  false  at  heart, — 

A  wild,  excited,  fierce  and  fickle  crew  ! 
And  wreck  seemed  certain — but  her  Pilot's  art. 

And  God's  great  mercy  brought  the  staunch  ship  through ! 

But,  now  the  port  is  near,  and  danger  past, 
And  the  saved  crew    chant  praises  as  they  go. 

What  dirge  is  this,  that,  rising  on  the  blast 
Breaks  on  our  ears,  and  turns  our  joy  to  woe  ? 

Where  sleep  thy  vengeful  thunders,  righteous  God  ! 


112  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Can  hell-born   Murder  strike   such  prey,  and  live  ! 
Must  we  be   stricken  by  thy  chastening  rod 
Even  while   hosannas  in  thy  praise  we  give  ? 

While  joy-bells  ring  for  triumphs   in  the  field, 

And  cannon  thvinder  loud  to  greet  the  day 
When  Treason's  stronghold,  forced  at  last  to  yield 

Hoists  the  proud  flag  that  owns  the  Nation's  sway, 
Must  grief's  deep  sobs  choke   down  our  shouts  of  glee  ? 

Must  dirges  swell  where  erst  glad  paeans  rose  ? 
Must  we,  reversing  Denmark's  legend,  see 

Our  wedding-feast  with  rites  funereal  close  ? 

Was  it  to  nerve  our  fast-relaxing  arms, — 

Renew  our  hate  for  Treason,  at  an  hour 
When,  sated  with  success,  we  feel  the  charms 

Soft    Peace  exerts  to  rob  us   of  our    power  ? 
Have   we  "grown   pigeon-livered,  and  lack  gall  ? " 

Prone  to  forget  our  martyrs,  starved  and  slain, 
Within  old  Libby's  thrice-accursed   wall. 

And  Georgia's  slaughter-pens  of  death  and  pain? 

God  knows  our  hearts !    It  may  indeed  be  true 

This  warning's  sent  to  us  in  hour  of  need, — 
That  He  allowed  this  hireling  wretch  to  do 

The  traitors'  will,  to  damn  them  with  a  deed 
Should  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  a  land 

Which  breeds  such  monsters,  till,  through  years  of  pain 
Where  Shame  and  dark  Remorse  walk  hand  in  hand, 

The  South  win  Heaven's  favor  once    again  ! 

Well,  be  it  so  !    As  they  do  make  their  bed 
So  let  them  lie !    Martyrs   fall  not  in  vain, 

And  this  Assassination,  treason-bred. 
Will   bring  on  traitor  heads  the  curse  of    Cain  ! 

And  through  the  cycles  of  each  coming  age, 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  113 

This  foul  Rebellion,  crushed  beneath  the  rod, 

Will  drag  its  hated  name  through  History's  page, 

A  branded   murderer,  cursed  of  man  and  God ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Clarksville,  Tenn. 


From  the  New  York  Tribune. 
TO    MORTON,  THE   PEN-MAKER. 

An  Advertisement. 


Morton,  pick  me  out  a  Pen, — 

You've  all  patterns,   shapes  and  sizes. 
Fitted  to  "all  sorts  or  men," 

So  The  Tribune  advertises ; 
And  what  Greeley  says,  you  know 

We  Republicans  can  bet  on,— 
But  we'll  let  "Friend  Horace"  go. 

And  to  business  soon  we'll  get  on. 
Choose   one  limber,   fine  and  fair, — 

Smooth  of  nib — saiis  scratch  or  sputter, — 
That  a  sweeping  stroke  will  bear. 

Spreading  ink  "as  smooth  as  butter" ; — 
Gliding  quickly  back  again 

To  a  line  as  light  and  slender 
As  divides  the  placid  main 

From  the  blue   sky's  evening  splendor  I 
Let  the  virgin  gold    unite 

With  her  "iridosmin"  lover, 


114  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

Like   our  Union,  strong  and  bright 

When  her  fiery  ordeal's  over  I 
Gold  as  pure  as  patriot's  heart, 

Temper  true  as  warrior's  blade, — 
Perfect  formed  in  every  part 

As  the  Bond  our  fathers  made ! 
May  the  inky  stream  that  flows 

O'er  its  spotless,  shining  face. 
Pass,  unsullying  as  it  goes, 

Leaving  no  corroding    trace. 
As  our  Nation's  deadly   blight 

Washed  by  martyrs'  blood  and    tears 
Soon  shall  vanish  from  our  sight 

With  the  swift  receding  years  I 
May  it  as  elastic  be 

Under  pressure  of  my  hand, 
As,  with  all  her  children  free 

Soon  will  rise  our  sore-pressed  land ! 

Such  the  Pen  I  long  have  sought, 

Morton,  Amicus  Scriblorum ! 
Many  a  "stylus"  have  I  bought, — 

Much  the  "tin"  I've  squandered  for  'em  f 
But  how  will  my  flnjers  caper, — 

How  my  fancy  soon  will  sport  on 
When  across    the  virgin  paper 

Glides  my   "Number  Six"  from    Morton  ! 

J.  W. 

Victoria,  Ills.,  July   13,   1862. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  115 


To  Lieut.  R.  D.  R.,  83CI  Ills.,  on  His  Marriage. 


He  heard  his  country's  call    for  aid, 

In   youth's  bright   halcyon   day; 
For  love's  nor  friendship's  charms  he  staid, 
But  eager,  buckled  on  his    blade; 
His  fond  adieus  in  haste  he  paid 
Then  tore  him  from  his  weeping    maid 

And  hastened  to  the  fray  ! 

"  Farewell  to  Love  !    sweet  guest,  farewell !" 

Our  youthful  martyr  cried; 
"In  peaceful  groves  thou  best  mayst    dwell,— 
In  sheltered  vale  or  flowery  dell ; 
Heroic  thoughts  my  bosom  swell,— 
Love,  be  thou  banished  for  a  spell. 
And  Honor  be  my    bride ! " 

Love,  who  by  chance  was  sporting  near,, 
O'erheard,  and  winked  in  glee  ! 
"  I'm    banished,   eh  !    that's  rather  queer ! 
And  so  we're  bound  to  part,  I  hear  ! 
Good  bye,  young  hero — never  fear. 
Wait  till  you've  missed  me   for  a  year! 
You'll  see,   friend  R. — you'll  see  ! " 

So  R.   went  forth  in  youthful  pride 
Where  cannon  belched  their  thunder; — 


116  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN, 

The  rugged  paths  of  duty  tried, — 
Faced  death  and  danger  far  and  wide, — 
Wooed  glory  for  a  soldier's  bride, 
Yet  felt  a  throbbing  in   his  side 
That  filled   his  soul  with  wonder. 

For  every  day  increased  the   pain 

With    which  the  youth  was  pining. 
The  doctors  diagnosed    in   vain. 
And  pharmacy  no  clue  could  gain; 
That  something  ailed  the  lad  was  plain 
Though  sound  in  stomach,  pulse  and  brain ! 
It  baffled   all  divining  I 

At  last  the   secret  stood  confessed, — 
Young  Love,  when  warned  to  part, 
As  R.  arrayed  him  in  his  best, 
Got  smuggled  in   beneath  his  vest, 
And  tugged  and  tickled  at  his  breast, 
Nor  gave  the  poor  Lieutenant  rest 
Till  master  of  his  heart ! 

;So,  as  a  cure  to  fit  the  case, 

He's  gone  and  ta'en  a  wife  ! 
And  may  her  beauty,  youth  and  grace 
His  past  afflictions  soon  efface. 
As  hand  in  hand,  with  even  pace 
They  jog  through  Time's  predestined  race, 

And  a  long  and  happy  life ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Fort  Donelson,  Tenn. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  117 


LINES 

On   the   Death  Of   Mrs.  C.  R.,  at  Kt.  Donelson,  Tenn. 


So  young,  so  fair — and  doomed,  alas,  to  die  ! 

So  good,  so  true,-  -so  loving,  and  so  loved ! 

Even  strangers  at  thy  hapless  fate  are  moved 
And  listen  to  the  tale  with  moistened  eye ! 

But  deeper  gloom  falls  on  those  friends  of  thine 
To  whom   thy  virtues  and  thy  worth  were  known. 
To  whom,  in  friendship's  crucible  were  shown 

Thy  proven  gold — the  richest  in  the  mine ! 

A  mind  well  stored  and  strong,— that  shrank  from  sight 
Nor  oped  its  treasured  wealth  to   public  view, 
But  on  its  chosen  friends,  a  favored  few 

Beamed,  a  perennial  fount  of  chastened  light  I 

A  soul  as  pure  as  pearl  within  its  shell, — 
A  heart  as  warm  and  true  as  ever  beat ; 
A  spirit    calm  and  brave — a  voice  as  sweet 

As  note   of  lute,  or   sound  of  distant   bell  ! 

But  why  recall  the  charms  that  made  thee   dear ! 
Such  thoughts  add  weight  to  this  too  heavy  cross  I 
But  feed  our  heart's  great  sorrow  at  thy  loss, 

And  make  us  comfortless  who  miss  thee  here  ! 

And  how  shall  he  whose   home  thy  love  hath  blessed, 
Whose  cup  of  bliss  thy  presence  made  run  o'er, 


Jig  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

When  he  shall  miss  thy  welcome  at  the  door 
Returned  from  duty  in  his  cot  to   rest, — 

How  shall  his  heart,  so  manly  and  so  strong, 
Grow  sick  with  pain,  and  dark  and  desolate. 
And  in  its  throes  rise  up  against  its  fate 

Till  blest  Religion  soothe  its  struggles  long  1 

Ood  give  him  strength  !    God  comfort  him  we    pray, 
And  pour  thy  balm  into    this  bleeding  heart. 
And  when  these  transient  clouds  of  sorrow  part 
Receive  him  to  the  light  of  perfect  day! 

J.  W.  T. 
Clarksville,  Tenn.,   Aug.   13,   1864. 


SABBATH    IN    CAMP. 


How   brightly  shines    this    Southern    sun,    as    Morning    creeps 

along ! 
How  quiet  is  the  stilly  air,  unvexed  by  shout  or  song! 
A  Sabbath  silence  reigns  supreme,  and  Peace,  with  gentle  hand 
Bules    o'er    our   garrison    to-day,    though    War    still  racks    the 

land  ! 

Thy  sparkling  course,  old  Cumberland  I  far  eastward    we    may, 

trace 
Where  sunbeams  dance  upon  thy  waves,  or  shadows   dim  thy 

face  ; 
Mid  darkling  hills,  through   light  and  shade,  in  Spring's    first 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  119 

wealth  of  green, 
A  silver  belt  in  emerald  laid,  thy  fair  expanse  is  seen  ! 

And  can  it  be  such  peaceful  scene  but  mocks  our  real  life  ? 
That  underneath    this    peaceful    show    lurk    discord,    war    and 

strife  ? 
That  Man  alone,  of  all  Thy  works,   O,  God,  must   ever  prove 
The  one  foul  blot  on    Nature's    plan — the    foe    to    peace    and 

love  ! 

What  demon's  might  hath  wrought  this  spell,  to  change  our 
good  to  ill  ? 

Make  desolate  a  million  homes, — our  choicest  blood  to  spill  ? 

Called  forth  the  freemen  of  the  North,  to  tread  a  land  of 
slaves, 

To  wet  with  blood  these  Southern  plains,  fill  nameless  South- 
ern graves  ? 

Just  God  !   shall  Slavery  prevail,  the  blackest  fiend  of  all ! 
Must  millions  perish  for  the  Right,  and  fruitless  be  their  fall  I 
Shall   not  the  blood   of  martyrs  shed  in   Freedom's  cause,    be 

blest  ? 
Shall   not  the  blows  of  Justice  crush  the    monster's    haughty 

crest  ? 

If  ever  cause  of  erring  Man  was  holy,  just  and  clear, 
If   ever  human  prayers  to  Thee  were   fervent  and  sincere, 
If   ever  Nation  sought  Thy  help,  and  humbly  kissed  the   rod 
While   praying  for  returning  grace,  we  seek  it  now,  O  God ! 

To  save  a  Nation    freed  from  sin, — a  home   for  humankind. 

To  break  the  shackles    from  the    slave,  the  fetters    from   the 

mind,— 

If  noble  purpose,  bravely  urged,  may  look  for  aid  to    Thee, 

O  God  of  Justice  and  of   Love,  give  us  the   victory  ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Fort  Donelson,   May  22,  1864. 


120  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN, 


WOMAN   IN    WAR. 


The  halcyon    days  of  Peace  are   past, — 

The  din  of   War  is  on  the  blast, — 

A  million  men,  from  South  and  North 

To  carnage  and  to  death  march  forth. 

And  Mercy  now  must  plead  in    vain, 

And  Pity  weep  o'er  fields  of  slain. 

For  in  stern  Battle's  deadly  shock 

Man's  nerves  are  steel,  his  heart  is  rock  ! 

His  sword  must  crash  through  flesh  and  bone 

Nor  stint  for  shriek  and  dying  groan, — 

And  true  must  be  his  aim  and  eye. 

Though  Death  on  every  bullet  fly  ! 

What  though  beneath  his  trampling  steed 

A  wounded  foeman  writhe  and  bleed  ? 

Think  you  that  steed  he  will    restrain 

Where  wheeling  squadrons  charge  amain  ? 

The  bursting  shell  he  needs  must  throw 

Where  most  'twill  lacerate  the  foe. 

With  sword  and  ball  his  work  must  ply 

Till  hostile  towns   in  ruins  lie. 

Nor  must  Destruction's  carnage  cease 

Till  foemen  yield  and  sue   for  Peace  I 

No,  not  till  War's  dread  reign  is  o'er, — 
Till  blessed  Peace  return  once  more. 
Can  Man  his  murderous  arms  lay   by. 
And  o'er  the   ruins  heave  a  sigh ! 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  121 

But  'tis,  thank  God  !   thy  kindlier  part, 
O  Woman,  of  the   softer  heart ! 
While  yet  the   din  of  strife   we   hear, 
To  bind  the  wound,  to  drop   the  tear  I 
Tis  thine  to  cheer  our  darkest   day 
'Tis  thine  to  labor  and  to  pray. 
With  sympathy  to  soothe    the   heart 
And  rob  Distress  of  half  its  smart. 
Within  the  loathsome   Hospital, 
(More  dreaded  far  than  sword  or  ball,) 

Where  lurks  disease  in  every    guise, — 
Where  sickness  dims  the  strong  man's   eyes, — 

Where   pain  and  anguish  and  despair 

With  groans  and  ravings  fill  the    air, 

Where  plagues  and  pestilence  abound 

May  Woman,  brave  as  kind,  be  found  ! 

And  when  the  battle,  or  the  fray 

Has  piled  the  field  with  lifeless  clay. 

There  pitying  women  quickly   fly 

Where  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  lie, — 

With  wine  and  oil, — with   lint  and   bands, — 

With  wondrous  skill,  and  gentle  hands 

They  bind  our  wounds,  they  ease   our   pain, 

And  bring  back  life  and   hope  again. 

And  Woman,  generous  and  good 

Sends  clothing  warm,  and  dainty  food. 

And  love-gifts,  wrought   with  cunning  art. 

To  cheer  and  warm  the   sick  man's  heart ! 

And  should  the  husband  and  the   sire 

Upon  the  bloody  field   expire, 

She  soothes  the  needy   widow's  grief 

With  kindly  pity  and  relief. 

And  opens  wide  her  heart  and   home. 

And  bids  the  houseless  orphan  come  ! 
Yes— Woman,  since    the  world    began. 


122  A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN. 

Has  proved  a  noble  mate  to  man, — 
Has  faithfully  performed  her  part 
With  dauntless  soul  and  loving  heart, 
And  made  a  record,  bright  and  pure, 
Which  through  all  ages  shall  endure 
While   kindness,  fortitude  and  worth 
Are  loved  and  honored  on  the   Earth ! 

Fort  Donelson,  Jan'y  9,   1864. 


J.  W.  T. 


From  the  Fort  Donelson  Review. 
THE  BIQ  SCARE! 


{A  false  Alarm,  which  created  much  excitement  in   camp  at  the 
time,  and  much  fun  afterivard.) 


Tis  night, — and  o'er  our  sleeping  camp 
The  moon  hangs  like  a  new  tin    lamp; 
The  pickets  on  their  posts  asleep. 
Snore  forth,  like  trumpets,  loud  and  deep, — 
Till  horse-hoofs,  clattering  o'er  the  grounds. 
Announce  the  coming  of  "Grand    Rounds",— 
When,  springing  up  from  couches  hard. 
The  corporals  cry— "Turn  out  the  guard  I " 
So   ruthlessly  do  men  of  power 
Disturb  our  rest  at  midnight   hour, — 
Break  on  our  slumber's   drowsy  charms. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  123 

To  make  us  rise   and  "Shoulder   Arms ! " 
The   sentinels  have  said  their  say, — 
"Grand  Rounds"   have   gone  their  devious  way;-^ 
The  pickets  stretch  them  on  the  plain, 
And  court  the  drowsy  god  again. 
What  means  that  gun — that  signal    dread? 
A  las  !    our  peaceful  dreams  have  fled ! 
The  watchful  sentry  on  "Post  Four" 
Sees  danger  lurking  at  the  door  ! 
Bang !    goes  his  rifle,  loud  and  clear  I 
Its  echo  rings  on  Night's  dull  ear 
And   starts  a  wakeful  cannonier 
Who,  in  the  Fort's  well-guarded  ground 
Walks  nightly  on  his  ceaseless  round ! 

The  cannonier  his  match  applied. 
And  waked  more  echoes  far  and  wide; 
Far  up  the  Cumberland  they  rattle 
Where   Forrest's  scouts  are   stealing  cattle, — 
Set  "dorgs"  to  barking  far  and  near, 
Make  "secesh"  widows  start  in  fear, 
And  shake  the  nerves  of  Mrs.  Horn, 
(Though  guards  watch  o'er  her  night  and  morn!) 
Down  through  the  valley  rolled  its  thvinder 
And  filled  Dame  Thompson's  soul  with  wonder, 
Boomed  o'er  old  Kelley's  "loyal"  ground. 
Where  rebel  arms  were  lately  found  I 
Started  the  echoes  at  Ed.  Winn's 
And  set  him  thinking  of  his  sins ! 
Made  Parrish,  at  the  Forge,  turn  o'er, 
And  hope   old   Forrest's  come  once  more  1 
Makes  "Betty"  weep,  and  wish  in  vain 
Her  cavalry  friends  were  back  again  ! 
Its  echoes  o'er  the  river  ring, 
And  start  the  slumbers  of  Miss   King, 
Where   horsemen  have  been  seen  escorting 


124  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN, 

Of  late,  gay  "Commissary  Norton " ! 
And  as  from  ashes  starts  the  phoenix, 
So  from  her  bed  springs  Widow  Penicks, 
And  as  the  sound  she  takes  a  scare  at, 
Calls  loudly   for  Lieutenant  Garrett ! 

'Twere  long  to  tell,  and  dull  to   hear 
What  notes  it  rung  in  every  ear, — 
But  to  the  soldier's   ear  it  said: 

"  Get  up — turn  out — roll  out  of   bed  ! " 
The  long-roll  beats — the  camp's  awake. 
Each  captain  hastes  his  place  to  take. 
And  frantic  shout  and  rattling  drum 
Urge  sleepy  men  in  line  to  come  ! 
The  soldier's  toilet's  quickly  done. 
He  dons  his  clothes,   he  grabs  his  gun, 
And  scarce  the  echoes  die  away. 
Ere  marshalled  forth   in  grim   array. 
Beneath  the  breastwork's   sheltering  mound 
Three   hundred  Sucker  lads  are    found. 
As  fearless  now  as  on  the  day 
We  drove  old  Forrest's  thieves   away  ! 

Here   leave  we  now  our   boys  in   arms — 
Our  muse  must  picture  the  alarms 
That  thrilled  the  bosoms  of  the  fair 
When  burst  the  din  on  midnight  air  I 

"Oh,  woman   in   our   hours   of    ease 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
But  when  affliction  wrings  the  brow 
A  ministering  angel    thou  ! " 
Oh  woman,  in  the   sun's  blest  light 
Who  is  so  brave  to   scold — or  fight,^ 
When  darkness  doth   the  foe  conceal, 
A  mouse  can  make  the  boldest  squeal ! 
Tis  said — perhaps  the  villain  lied 
Some  weaker  sisters  shrieked   and  cried. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  125 

And  held  their  lords  with  might  and  main, 
Lest  in   the  flght  they  might  be  slain  ! 
'Tis  also  told,  at  dead  of  night 
Pale  ghosts  walk  forth,  arrayed  in  white 
And  breathless   to  the  river  fly 
Where   friendly  barges  chance  to  lie, 
And  there  for  help  they  loud  implore 
To  waft  them  to  the  other  shore  ! 

But  words  are  weak  to  paint  the  fright 
Which  shook  the  souls,  this  fateful  night, 
Of  those   whose   ancestors  of  yore 
Basked  in  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore ! 
'Twas  sad— and  yet  'twas  fun,  to  see 
These  aged   darkies  scud  and  flee, 
With  eyes  protruding  and  distended 
Swift  to    the   Fort  their  way  they    wended, 
Leading  their  "picaninnies"  here. 
And   "toting"  in  their  worldly  gear! 
Reader !    didst  ever  see  a  ghost  ? 
Didst  ever  see  a  woman  crossed  ! 
Didst  ever  view  a  grinning  ape, 
Or   any  weird,  unearthly  shape  ? 
Hast  had  the  d — 1  in  full  view. 
Or   Barnum's  latest  bugaboo  ? 
All  these   are  mild  and  "canny"  figures 
Beside  a  pack  of  frightened  niggers ! 

Reader !    wouldst  learn  what   danger  dread 
Routed  the   soldier  from   his  bed, 
Scared  our  brave  dames  the  other  night 
And  filled  our  darkey  friends  with  fright, — 
Stirred  up  the  country  miles  about 
And  raised  this  rookery  and  rout — 
Made  every  squad,  from  A  to  G, 
Jerk  on  their  duds  so  furiously 
And  rush  to  meet  a  fancied  foe 


126  A  SHEAF  OF  GaAIN. 

I'll  say,  your  poet  doesn't    know  ! 

If  there's  one  sinner  in  this  town 

Can  tell,  he  heads  your  friend, 

John  Brown. 
Fort  Donelson,  Tenn, 


From   the  Louisville   Union. 
WAITING   KOR  THE   MAIL. 


Running  to  the  depot — watching  at  turn-tables, 
Crowding  round  the  office,  in  rain  and  snow    and    hail, 

Scrambling  after  papers,  though  they're  full  of  fables , — 
Oh,  but  this  jolly,  waiting  for  the   Mail  ! 

Grangs  of  bold  guerillas  cut  our  railroads    daily, 
Burning  down  our  bridges,  tearing  up  the  track  ; 

Squads  of  rebel  soldiers,  prancing  round  so  gaily. 
Swarming  on  our  rivers,  drive  our  transports  back. 

Hood  in  front  of  Nashville — swears  he'll  take  the  city — 
Wouldn't  old  "  Pap  Thomas "  like  to  see  him  try    it  ? 

Lyons  in  Kentucky,  thinks  it  such  a  pity. 
He  can't  get  into  Clarksville   when  he's   passing  by  it ! 

Don't  like  Col.  Smith — thinks  him  rough  on  traitors — 
Hates  the  Eighty-third,  because  it  ne'er  surrenders  ; — 

Wishes   Bruce  and  Mason — abolition-haters. 
Of  our  Southern  cities  were  the  sole  defenders  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  127 

Sherman  down  in  Georgia,  inarching  on  Savannah, 
Not  a  word  of  tidings,  whether  good  or   ill, — 

Grant  encircling  Richmond  in  his  patient  manner, 
Has  he  seized  the  Danville  Railroad  ?    If  he's  not  he  will  I 

Where's  Phil.  Sheridan  ?    Has  Early  left  the  Valley  ? 

What  is  Burbridge  doing  ?  Does  Breckenridge  menace  him  ? 
Can  old  Price  again  his  broken  forces  rally  ? 

Where's  "  Old   Rosey "  sent  ?    Why  did  they  displace  him  ? 

What  is  Congress  doing  ?    Making  "  bumcombe  "  speeches  ? 

Strong  on  the  "spread  eagle" — weak  in  legislation  ! 
Robbed  by  speculators,  bled  by  heartless   leeches. 

Virtue  in  the  masses  alone  can  save  the  Nation  ! 

What's  the  news  from  Europe  ?    Growls  the    British  lion  ? 

Hope  he  fattens  on  it !     Glad  he's  lost  his  teeth  ! 
Is  neighbor  Maximilian  diplomacy  still  trying, 

Hiding  Austrian  claws  French  velvet  beneath  ? 

How  goes   everything  ?    Is  the  world  still  jogging  ? 

Telegraphs  and  railroads,  boats  and  coaches  fail ! 
Even  the  "  grapevine's "  down !    Every  thing  is  clogging ! 

Oh,  but  this  jolly,  waiting  for  the  Mail ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Clarksville,  Tenn.,  Dec.  18,  1864. 


128  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 


SECOND  BATTLE  OE  EORT  DONELSON. 

February  3ci,  1863. 


Twas  noon — on  Dover's  ruined  town 
The  Winter  sun  shone  coldly  down, 
The  chilly  wind  blew  bleakly  past 
Where,  shivering  in  the  biting  blast. 
Six  hundred  Northern  soldiers   lay 
In  camp  one  February  day. 

Something,  to-day,  'tis  plain  to  see, 
Disturbs   our  camp's  tranquillity. 
Our  scouts,  it  seems,  have   brought  to   town 
Reports,  to  certainty  now  grown. 
That  rebel  foes,  ten  thousand  strong, 
Were  camped,  the  neighboring  woods   among, 
Who  vowed  before  the  sun  had  set 
Our  little  post  and  stores  to  get. 
And  wreak  on  doomed  Fort  Donelson 
Revenge  for  wrongs  by  Yankees  done. 
When  Grant,  with  his  victorious  bands, 
Wrested  the  post  from  Rebel  hands  I 
That  Forrest,  with  his  raiders  free, 
And  Wharton  and  his  cavalry, 
And  Wheeler,  famed  for  martial  skill. 
With  countless  hosts  to  work  their  will 
Came  swiftly  down   the  river's  side. 
Their  ranks  with  cannon  well   supplied, — 
While  to  oppose  this  vast  array. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  129 

Six  hundi-ed   men  this  Winter's  day 

In  calm   self-confidence  and   pride 

The  rebel  onset  now  abide  ! 

Not   long  we   wait — for,   riding  fast 

Ere   yet   our  noonday   meal   is   past 

Our  scouts  bring  word  the  foe  is  near,— 

Their  force  comes  on  in  full  career. 

From   East  and   South,   in  columns  twain. 

The   rebels  pour  their  hosts  amain ! 

Yet  ere  their  fierce  assault  they  make. 

Short  time   for  rest  they  needs  must  take. 

And  word  they  send,   in   mercy's   show. 

That,  would   we  all  defence  forego. 

Would  we  our  fort  and  stores  but    yield 

'Twould  save   much   carnage   in   the   field !  ' 

In   pity  to  our  helpless   band, 

They'd  rein  the  steed  and  sheathe  the   brand;— 

Yea,  in  the   kindness  of  their  souls. 

They'd  spare  our  lives  and  grant  paroles ! 

Brave  Harding  heard  their  message  through 

And   sent  defiance  to  their  crew: 
"  We  were   sent  here,"  our  Colonel  cried, 
^'To  hold,  not  yield,  the  river  side  ! 

'Twere  but  a  coward's    part,  I  trow. 

To  strike   his   flag  without  a  blow ! 

My  troops  are  raw;    they've   never  met 

In  arms  your  Southern  soldiers  yet,^ 

They're  keen  to  fight — they'll  take  no  less, 

And,  faith  !    I'll  humor  them,    I  guess  !  " 
■"  Then  be  the  blood  upon  your  head  ! " 
"I'll  bear  it!"    the   old  hero  said! 

The  truce  is  o'er;   their    cannons   roar; 

The  whizzing  shot  around  us  pour; 

Fierce  scream  the  shells,  then  burst  amain 

And  scatter  death  around  the   plain  ! 


130  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

Along  the  circling  ridge  we  see 

Their  columns  form  right  gallantly, 

Each  squadron,  as  it  wheels  in   place 

Selects  in  haste  a  fitting  space 

Where,   soon,  in  circle,  two  by  two 

Light  brass  field-pieces  grin  in  view, 

And  scarce  a  man  can  name  his  name 

Ere   from  their  mouths  belch  smoke  and  flame; 

And  bursting  shell  and  whizzing  ball 

Among  our  shattered  cabins  fall. 

And  many  a  wretch  in  anguish  cries 

And  many  a  mangled  soldier  dies. 

But  not  a  cheek  or  lip  grows  pale 

Beneath  that  rattling  leaden  hail. 

And  not  a  soul  his   faith  hath   lost 

And  not  a  man   forsakes  his  post. 

Till,  weaiying  of  their  cannons'  play 

They  wheel  their  lines  in  close  array 

With  one  fierce  charge  to  win  the   day  ! 

Ah,  fair  it  was  that  sight  to  see, 
Those  gallant  riders,  bold   and  free. 
As  up  the  slope  they  charge  amain 
And    face    the  shower  of  leaden  rain, 
Which  meets  them  ere  its  crest  they  gain 
But  nearer  still  they  press,  nor  heed 
Where  falling  man  and  staggering  steed 
With  spouting  blood  from  many  a  wound 
Make  slippery  the  rising  ground. 
As,  pushing  up  the  steep  incline 
They  seek  to  break  our  slender  line, 
Which,  from  the  breastworks'  sheltering   mound 
Pours  death   and  havoc  all  around  ! 

But  few  that  hill's  rude  crest  shall  gain, 
And  fewer  still  return  again  ! 
A  leaden   hail  has  piled  the  ground 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  131 

Those  belching   rifle-pits  around ! 

A  hail  their  valor  cannot  face 

Although  to  run  were  sore  disgrace, 

Yet  "he  who  fights  and  runs  a\yay 

May  live  to   fight  another  day; " 

And  doubtless,  these  who  turn  and  run 

Though  they  outcount  us  ten  to  one 

Look  forward  to  that  "other  day". 

When  "Harding's  boys"  won't  block  their    way  I' 

Yet,  facing  still  the   deadly  shower 

Did  bold  McNairy  try  his  power, 

By  shout  of  cheer,  by  waving  sword. 

By  eloquence   of  look  and  word 

To  rouse  and  cheer  his  frightened  men 

To  storm  those   deadly  heights    again. 

Before  their  broken  ranks  he   rides, 

Their  straggling  line  he  cheers  or  chides, 

Till  from  his  horse  we  see   him    fall, 

And  rout  and  panic  seize  them  all ! 

It  boots  not  now  the  tale  to  tell, — 
The  world — my  readers — know  it  well ! 
How  through  the   day  the  battle  sped, — 
The  desperate  charge   by  Forrest  led, — 
How  Wheeler,  bold  but  cautious  too, 
Round  to  the  West  his  squadrons  drew, 
And  charging  our  unguarded   flanks 
Divided   quick  our  slender    ranks, — 
But  beaten  oft,  and  cut  in  twain, 
Our  little  band  would  form    again  ! 
How,  baffled  oft,  at  every  turn, 
By  foemen  they  affect  to  scorn. 
They  sought  from  noon  till  fall  of  night 
To  crush   our  little   band  outright. 
Rushed  all  their  charging  thousands    forth 
From  East  and  West,  from  South  and    North, 


132  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Till   beaten   at  each  point  they  tried, 

They  gathered  on  the  western   side, 

Formed  their  thinned  ranks  by  waning  day, 

And  in  the   darkness   slunk  away ! 

Does  History,  with  her  flattering  Pen 

That  joys  to  praise  the  deeds   of   men, 

Record,  in  all  her  pages  bright, 

A  firmer  stand,  a  pluckier  fight ! 

What  regiment  hath  better  done 

Than  win  'gainst  odds  of  twelve  to  one  ? 

So,  comrades,  when  you  chance  to  meet 

And   swap  war  chestnuts  in  the  street. 

Just  think  to   drop   a  friendly  word 

For  Harding,  and  the  Eighty-Third  ! 

Company  K. 
Ft.  Donelson,  Tenn.,  Feb'y,  18&3. 


From  the  Inter  Ocean. 
JVIUUTUIVI  EX  PARVO. 


A  serf,  who  delved  'mong  rocks  and  clay 

Unearthed  a  precious  stone 
From  heaps  of  rubbish,  where   it  lay 

Unnoticed   and  unknown. 
That  laboring  man,  of  station  mean 

Gave  to  the  world  a    gem 
That  shines,  unmatched  in  size  and  sheen 

In   royal  diadem  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  133 

A  traveler  in   distant   lands 

Wandered   beside  a  brook; 
At  something  glittering  mid  its  sands 

He  paused,  and  stooped  to  look. 
That  wanderer,   poor,   of  humble   birth, 

Thrilled  with   a  glad   surprise;— 
Wealth,   destined   to   enrich  the   earth, 

Met  his  astonished  eyes ! 

A  stranger,   on  a  foreign  shore. 

Mid  natives  wild  and  rude, 
Passing  a  friendly  open   door 

Received  some  roots  for  food; 
Those   homely  tubers,  tested,   soon 

Their  wondrous  worth  vinfold. 
The   food   for  millions,   and  a  boon 

Worth  more  than  mines  of  gold  ! 

A  thinker,   friendless   and   unknown 

Sat  brooding  in  his  cell; 
The  world   scarce   knew  that  dreamer  lone, 

Nor  dreamed  what  he  could  tell; 
In  after  years   his  thoughts  took   form, — 

They  girt  the   world  with    wire; 
They  wrote   his  fame,  through  calm   and  storm, 

In  characters   of   Are  ! 

A  writer,  in  his  garret  bare, 

Penned   a  few  lines,  one  day; 
His  bi'oad,  pale  brow  was  seamed   with  care; 

His  food  was  scant,  they  say; 
A  nation  read  those  lines, — it  rose 

And  flung  its  tyrants  down; 
Those   slender,   aged   hands  struck   blows 

That  dashed  to  earth   a  crown ! 


134  A  SHEAF  OF   GRAIN, 

A  humble   Monk,  unknown  to   fame, 

Struck  out  a  truth,  one  night; 
The  people,   wondering  saw,  and  came 

To  bask  them   in  its  light ! 
The  power  of  mighty  Rome  essayed 

To  quench  it  at  its  birth, — 
Its  bright  effulgence  grew,  and    stayed 

To  light  a  grateful  earth  ! 

A  genius,  toiling  in  the  night 

Mid  chemicals  and  wires. 
Saw  the   dark  room  at  once  grow  bright, 

Lit  by  electric  fires, — 
The  lightning  soon  obeyed  his  will; 

He  caught  its  flashes   bright, 
And  helped,  the  mandate  to  fulfill 

Which  said:   "Let  there  be   light!" 

A  soldier,  modest,  silent,  brave, 

At  duty's  call  arose, 
And  gave  his  humble  aid  to  save 

A  land  from  traitor  foes. 
That  silent  soldier  led  the  van 

Through  years  of  doubtful  strife. 
Captain  o'er  millions,  and  the   man 

Who  saved  a  Nation's  life  ! 

Earth's  toiling  millions  may  not   see 
The  end  from  the  beginning. 

Heaven  gives  but  Opportunity, — 
The  prize   is  left   for  winning  ! 

Faith  is  the  power  that  moves  the   world. 
And  Industry  the  lever. 

And  Progress,  with  his  flag  unfurled, 

Goes  marching  on   forever ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  Illinois. 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  135 


From  the  luter-Oceaa. 
GRANT'S  LUCK. 


(By  a  Southern  Democrat.) 


Down  in  Galeny,  Illinoy,  a  little   one-hoss  town, 

There    lived    a  Tanner,  'fore  the    wah— the    durndest     luckest 
houn' ! 

Why,    when    the    muss    'twixt    North    and    South    first    settled 
down  to  blows. 

His    name    and    bull -dog    phiz  warn't  known  ten   miles   from 
home  I  s'pose. 

Now,  we'uns  had  some  ginerals  what  fit  in   Mexico, 

And  then  the  Yanks  they  bragged  on  some  that  made    a  gor- 
geous show, 

Then,  "  Little  Mac "  was  all  the  rage  ;  and  it  war  fun   to  see 

How    he  could  sling  his  army    round,    and    keep    from    hurt- 
ing we  ! 

And  bold  Fitz  -  John,  his  ace  of  trumps  !  he  wouldn't  strike   a 
lick, 

Onless  'twould  help    Miclellan's    fame, — ( we  thought  he    was  a 
brick ! ) 

And  Buell  too !   it  did   beat   all  what  marching  he    could    do, 

And  not  ketch  up  with  Bragg  till  he  got  where  he  wanted  to  ! 

He  didn't  want  to  hurt  the  South—"  'twant  what  he  came  here 
foh !" 

He  used  to  say ;  and  Bragg,  you  know,    was    Buell's    brother- 
'nlaw  ! 


136  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

So,  thiugs  went  on  as  beautiful  as  Southern    folks   could 
want, 
Till    one  day   comes  a  telegram  about  one  "  Gin'ral   Grant  !" 
Nobody  seemed   to   know  the   chap,   and  there   was  mighty  few 
What  ever  heerd  his   name  afore  they  heerd  his    doings    too  I 

You've    heerd    how,  down  at  Donelson  we  built  a  staving 

Fort, 
We    planted    juns    to  stop    the    boats,  and    then  laid  low  for 

sport. 
When,    tearin'    through    the  tangled    brush  the  Western  boys 

appeared, 
You  bet,  we  Southern  Dimmycrats  was  pretty  badly  skeered  I 
While  we  was  shaking  in  our  shoes,  like  panic-stricken  Turks, 
Comes  that  Galena  tanner.   Grant,   "a  moving   on  our  works!" 
And  then  there  chanced  the  queerest  thing — you've   heerd  of 

it,   no  doubt, — 
When  they'iuis  come  a  movin'  in,   ivehms  went  prancin'  out  I 

So  things  went  on  till  Shiloh — there  we  thought  we  had  'em 

foul. 
We  waded  in  at  break  of  day,  and  fit  'em  cheek  to  jowl, — 
And  when  we  thought    we'd   got  'em    licked,    and    drove    into 

the   river. 
That  pesky  Grant,  upon  his  hoss,  we   happened  to  diskiver, 
A  rallyiu'  'em  to  charge  us  back !  the  sneakin',  ornery    cuss. 
He  didn't  know  when  he  was  licked,  but  turned  and  wallop- 
ed us ! 
Then  when  stout  Vicksburg  caved  at  last,  where  we  had  made 

a  plant, 
Durned  ef  I  ever  see  sich    luck !    'Twas    took    by    that    samet 
Grant  ! 

And  so  the  long  "  onpleasantness "  drug  on  f i-om  year  to  year. 
And    we'uns    kinder    gathered    heart,  and    hoped    success  was. 
near, 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  137 

We  thought  the  North  about    played  out,  our    fightiu'    nearly 
done, 

And  planned  to  hang  Abe  Linkin  when    we    captured    Wash- 
ington ! 

But  one  days  news  came  o'er  the  wires  -the  Yanks  had  chang- 
ed their  plan 

And  flggered  out,  'twas  in  the  East  they'd  want  their    hefti- 
est man ; 

So  Linkin  whistled  Grant  off  east,  to  tackle  Gin'ral    Lee, — 

"  Whoop  !  now  look  out  for  fun !"    we  cried :     "  He'll  bark   up 
the   wrong  tree  !" 

Grant  was  a  game  old  bull -dog  -that  we  couldn't  well  deny, 

But  when  he'll  bounce    our    lloa,    then    you'll    hear    him  sing 
"  ki-yi !" 

Lord  !  how  we  waited  for  the  news  !   and  when  we'd    all    pre- 
pare 

To  whoop  up  shouts  of   victory,  we'd    change    our    tune    and 
swear. 

For,    dog    my    cats  !    if    that    old     Grant— that    bullet-headed 
tanner 

Didn't  coop  Lee  in  Richmond  in  the  most  provokin'  manner ! 

And  somehow,  fetched  it  round  at    last — I'm   blest  if    I  know 
how, 

To  lick  out  Lee  and  bust  our  cause— 'twas    all    pure    luck    I 
swow ! 

Well,    after    that,    they    patched  a  peace— old   Linkin'  got  his 

dues. 
And  that  shoved  Andy  Johnson   up   into   his   empty    shoes,— 
And  things  went  swimmingly  for  us — the   South  was    then  in 

clover, 
Our  goose  hung  mighty  high  agin, — our    troubles    all    seemed 

over. 
We  nominated   Seymour,  then   began  again  to  rant 
About    States'  Rights— and  then,  I'll  swar !   they    'lected  Gin- 
'ral Grant ! 


138  A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN. 

Then    we    lay    quiet    eight    long    years,  a -hoping     things 

would   turn 
When   Hays    was    'lected    Pres.,    and   then    we   didn't    keer   a 

durn ! 
He  didn't  tumble  to  our  style,   but  sorter  left  us  free, 
To  run  things  our  own  fashion — that  is,  kick  up   deviltry  ! 
And  now  that  shot-gun  rule  has  come,  and    we   'uns    raising 

Cain', 
They're  goin'  to  run  that  hated  Grant    for  President    again  ! 
And  jest  as  sure  as  June  comes    round,  by  help  of    boys   in 

blue, 
They'll    nominate  that  lucky  cuss,  and  they'll  elect  him  too ! 

J.  W.  T. 

Victoria,  111.,  Feb'y  5,  1880. 


IVIIDNIGHT  IVIUSINGS. 


I  rise  from  bed;    I  cannot  sleep; 

I  sit  me  in  my  darkened  room. 
And  watch  the  fitful  fire-tongues  leap 

And   weave  weird  shadows  in  the  gloom! 
My  faithful  mate    lies  dreaming  near; 

Her  wearied  limbs  have  earned  their  rest; 
While  I,  an  idle  cumberer  here, 

Vex  with  vain  thoughts  my  wakeful  breast. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  139 

In  vain  Life's  teeming  fields  I  scan, 

Call  Reason  vainly  to  my  aid, 
But  Nature's  mystery  of  Man 

Is   darker  than   my  room's  deep  shade; 
For  here,  stray  jets  of   flickering   light 

Show  curtained  couch  and  pictured  wall; 
And  from  the  dark  domain  of  night 

Day's   lost  realities    recall. 

But  not  one  flash  illumes  the  way 

Where   Man's  dim  trail  is  lost  in  gloom; 
For  darkness  shrouds  his  natal    day, 

And  hides  his  path  beyond  the  tomb; 
And  all  Earth's  wisest  sage   can  tell, — 

(And  simplest  swain  can  scarce  know  less,) 
Is,   here  for  three-score  years  we   dwell, — ■ 

Our  Past  and  Future  who  can  guess  ? 

Whence  came  he  ?    Wherefore  ?    What  his  goal  ? 

What  his  true  part  on   Life's  brief  stage  ? 
Where  speeds  that  unknown  thing,  the  soul, 

When  ends  its  earthly   pilgrimage? 
Where  dwelt  that  soul,  before  it  hied 

To  vivify  its  clod  of  clay  ? 
Where  will  its  subtile  essence  bide 

Till    summoned  at  the  Judgment  Day  ? 

In  rock-hewn  caverns  by  the  seas, 

Man's  time-proof  skeleton  is  found, 
Where  through  the  thousand  centuries 

It  bleaches  on  the  bone-strewn  ground; 
Beside  it  lies  his  axe  of  stone. 

And,  closely  mingled,  side  by    side. 
Huge  cloven  skull  and  fractured  bone 

Tell  how  his  slaughtered  victims  died  ! 


140  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Here  dwelt  the  parent  of  our   race, 

Rude  sire  of  all  the  tribes   of  men; 
Here,   braved  the   lion  in  the  chase. 

And  slew  the  cave-bear  in   his  den; 
But  whence,  or  when,   or  how   he  came, — 

How  fared   amid  the   monster  throng,— 
How  fiercely  slew  his  mighty  game, 

Lives  not  in  chronicle  or  song. 

Yet  man,   himself  a  savave  grim,  S.ive.,  .. 

Walked  naked  through  a  storm-vexed    world; 
Where  browsing  mammoths   scowled  at  him, 

And  monster  apes  their  missiles   hurled, 
Where  serpents   swung  from  branch  and   limb, 

Where   saurians  lashed   their  tails  of  might, 
And  foul  hyenas  glared  at   him 

And  snarled   around   his   cave   at  night ! 

Did  his  bold  heart  its  courage    keep, 

His  cheek  its  ruddy,   dauntless  hue, 
When,   waking   from   his   dangerous   sleep 

The   serpent's  tightening  folds   he    knew  ? 
Did   his  tense   nerves  their  grasp   relax,— 

Did  terror  daunt  that   steady  eye. 
When,   proof  'gainst   spear  and  battle-axe, 

The  fierce  rhinoceros  charged  by  ? 

Could  sympathy   or   pity  move 

Or  tender  passion   soothe   his  breast. 
When  water,   earth  and  air  above 

Swarmed  with   fierce  foes   to  peace  and    rest  ? 
When,   Ishmael-like,   his  bloody   hand 

Found  in   each   savage  beast  a  foe. 
When   giant   monsters  stalked  the    land 

Or  lashed  the   waves  they  swam   below  ? 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  141 

How   long,  ere  conscience   ruled  desire, 

How  long,  ere  mercy  tempered  strife, 
How  long  ere  pity  softened  ire, 

And  stayed  the  avenger's  glittering  knife — 
Whether  Religion's  flickering  flame 

Won  o'er   his  savage   heart  its  sway ; 
Whether  some  holy  prophet  came 

To  point  him  to  a  better  way, — 

Whether  he  perished  from  the  earth, — 

Passed  with   its  monster-tribes  away. 
Till  God,  to  his  mysterious  birth 

Called  Adam    from  the   pregnant  clay. 
No  well-saved  parchment  shows ;  no  stones 

Carved   with  rude  art ;  no  granite  tongue 
Sends  message  in  sepulchral  tones 

From  the   dead  Past  when  Earth  was  young. 

Nor  from  the  ages  yet  to   be, — 

From  the   far  land  beyond  the   sky. 
Can  the   dread  power  of  prophesy 

Win  one  dim  glimpse  to  mortal  eye  ! 
We   can  but  know  that  God  is  wise, 

That  Faith,  not  knowledge,  serves  us   best, 
That  Duty  in  the  Present    lies, 

And  to   His  wisdom  leave  the  rest. 

Grangeb. 
Victoria,  111.,  Dec.  20,  1886. 


142  A   SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 


IVIY   UNCLE  JIM. 


Back  in  the  wilds  of  Michigan 
There  lived  a  simple-hearted  man ; 
His  intellect  had  narrow  span, — 

"What  odds  to  him 
How  vast  Creation's  work  began," 

Thought  Uncle  Jim  ! 

"  How  myriad  planets  had  their  birth  ? 
If  they  from  nebulae  spun  forth? 
What  the  disputed  age  of  earth  ?" 

Th'  horizon's  rim 
Fenced  all  that  held  intrinsic  worth 

For  Uncle  Jim  ! 

For  here  his  farms — the  best  around, 
With  well-filled  granaries  were  crowned ; 
His  flocks  and  herds  on  clovered  ground 

Roved  sleek  and  trim  ; 
The  bank,  too,  a  fat  credit  found 

To  Uucle  Jim. 

No  chemists'  lore  he  cared  to  know  ; 

He  knew  where  heaviest  wheat  would  grow^ 

And  honest  pride  would  overflow 

His  eyes'  small  brim, 
When  learned  men  for  "points"  would   go 

To  Uncle  Jim. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  143 

His  rule  of  life  was  plain  indeed ; 
To  help  his  neighbor  in  his  need, 
His  conscience  and  God's  laws  to  heed 

Sufficed  for  him  ; 
No  narrow,  Calvinistic  creed 

Had  Uncle  Jim! 

His  blood  in  peaceful  currents  ran ; 
No  wish  to  be  a  Congressman, 
Or  head  a  noisy  party's  van 

With  lungs  and  limb, 
Filled  with  disgust  life's  shortened  span 

For  Uucle  Jim  I 

No  wife  nor  children  blessed  his  lot, — 
Some  disappointment,  ne'er  forgot, 
Wrung  his  young  heart,  but  left  him   not 

A  cynic  grim; 
In  doing  good  a  cure   he    sought, 

Brave  Uncle  Jim  ! 

His  yearning  arms  he   opens  wide. 
Hastes  to  his  widowed  sister's  side, — 
Orphans,   by  want  and  sickness  tried,— 

Their  sad  eyes  dim 
With  weeping,  find  their  tear  drops  dried 

By  Uncle  Jim. 

Now  he  has  gone  to  well  earned  rest ! 
By  weeping  kin,  by  neighbors  blessed, 
His  white  hairs  on  earth's  lap  were  pressed; 

Death's  Angel  grim 
Wakened  no  terrors  in  thy  breast. 

Dear  Uncle  Jim  ! 

Far  deeper  minds  I've  known,  a  score, 
Steeped  in  wise  books  and  classic  lore, 


144  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

But  search  the  country  o'er  and  o'er, 

In  quest  of  him, 
No   kinder  man   God's  image  bore 

Than  Uncle  Jim ! 

And  if  kind  Heaven  should  grant  my    prayer, 

Its   blest   delights  with  saints  to  share. 

With   angel   hosts  who  worship  there. 

And    cherubim, 

I'll  take  big  odds  on  finding  there 

My  Uncle  Jim ! 

Granger. 
Victoria,  111.,  Feb.   19,   1887. 


ON  MY  NIECE'S  WEDDINQ, 

Jekix'y  i6,    1889. 


King  Winter  rules  a    conquered  land 

Which  shivers  'neath  his  frown. 
An  icicle   his  glittering  wand. 

Of  ice  his  sparkling  crown; 
And  servile  Nature  at  his  feet 

Her  softest  carpets  spreads. 
And  hangs  white  wreaths  his  eyes  to  greet 

From  boughs  above  our  heads. 

What  does  fair  Hattie  care,  to-day, 
For   Winter's  frost  and  cold. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN'.  145 

Or  grieve  for  flowers,  or  breath  of  May, 

Or  aught  that   Spring  doth   hold  ? 
For,  drawn  by  magic  of  her  eyes 

Her  fairy  Prince   has   come 
To  claim  his  prize  'ueath  wintry  skies, 

And  bear  his  princess    liome  ! 

Oh   magic   powers  of  youth  and   love. 

That  mock  at  ice  and  snow,^ 
That  light  the  cloud-dimmed  skies  above. 

The   drift-piled   fields  below ! 
That,  like   Aladdin's  lamp,   can   bring 

'Neath  Love's  all-couquering  spell. 
Fresh  Summer  fruits,  and  flowers  of   Spring 

Where  Winter's  captives  dwell ! 

Youth  smiles  when  tempests  vex  the    plains, 

When  hindering  snow-drifts  rise. 
For  warm   blood  courses  through  its  veins. 

And  Hope  lights  up   its    skies. 
The   fierce  wind   roars,  but  snug  in-doors 

The  gay  guests  laugh  and  shout: 
The  fire  that  up  the  chimney  roars 

Drives  baffled   Winter  out  ! 

Thus,  Hattie,  may  a  husband's  care 

Dispel  the  storms  of  life. 
May  genial  warmth  and  kindness   rare 

Surround  his  loving  wife  ! 
Thus  may  an  atmosphere   of  love 

Perennial  flow'rets  bring. 
And  may  your  happy  wifehood   prove 

A  reign  of  endless  Spring,^ 

While  all  the  joys  Wedlock  can  bring 

Around  your   pathway  linger. 
Responsive  to  the    magic  ring 


146  A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN 

Worn  on  your  slender    finger. 
While  potent  genie  prompt  attend 

Obedient  to  its  spell, 
And  flowers  of  joy  their  fragrance  lend, 

Where'er  you  chance  to  dwell. 


T- 


THE  TWO  ANGELS. 


When  Chaas,  from  his  empire  hurled, 
Fled  howling  from  this  new-formed  world, 

And  Order  seized  his  throne. 
Two  mighty  angels,  twins  in  birth. 
Flew  swift  to  tread  the  unpeopled  earth 

And  claim  it  for  their  own. 

The  first,  a  spirit  bright  and  fair, 
Of  radiant  face  and  golden  hair. 

And  eyes  of  heavenly  blue. 
Stepped  buoyant   on  the  rocky  mass. 
And  'neath  his  feet  sprang  herbs  and  grass. 

And  flowers   of  brightest  hue. 

He  breathed  the  vapor-laden  air; 
Lo,  new-born  forms,  of  colors  rare, 

Float  through  its  quickened  space  ! 
He  touched  the  dust— its  myriad  grains 
Respond,  and  o'er  earth's  peopled  plains 

Walk  Adam's  beauteous  race! 


A   SHEAF  OF   QBAIN.  Xil 

The  desert's  wildest  wastes  he  trod: 
There,  fruitful  tree  and  grassy  sod 

And  browsing  herds    appear ; 
He  climbed  the  mountain's  rocky  side: 
There  the  tall  pines  in  stately  pride 

Wave  verdant  through  the  year. 

From  east  to  west,  from   pole  to  pole. 
While  Ocean's  mighty  waves  shall  roll 

Or  Heaven's  bright  sun  shall  flame, 
This  angel  of  the  radiant  brow 
Shall  tread  Earth's  hills  and  vales  as  now: 

Life  is  this  angel's  name. 

But,  following  in  his  footsteps   fast, 
To  blight,  to  sicken  and  to  blast, 

His  fellow-angel  came  ; 
Dark  was  his  brow  as  starless  night, — 
From  his  dull  eyes  a  baleful  light 

Shot  forth  in  lurid  flame  ! 

Beneath  his  feet  the  flower-decked  plain 
Grows  brown  and  sere  ;  earth's  ripening  grain 

Wilts  on  each  withered  stem ; 
The  lamb  beside  its  dam   expires ; 
Weak  babes,   strong  sons  and  feeble  sires, — 

Death  has  no  care  for  them  ! 

That  stalwart  pine,  which  rears  on  high 
His  giant  trunk  to  greet  the   sky 

And  the  fierce  storm   defies, 
Touched  by  this  angel's  venomed   dart 
Feels  the  swift  poison  scorch  his  heart, — 

Yields  his  green  crown,   and  dies  ! 

Earth's  swarming  millions,  one  and   all, 
Start  at  that  potent  spii-it's  call ; — 


148  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Gray  Age,  and  Youth's  first  bloom 
Lay  pomp  and  vanities  aside, 
Bow  in  the  dust  their  humbled   pride 

And  hide  them  in  the  tomb  ! 

Is  the  first  angel's  work,  then,  vain  ? 
No ; — Cast  thine  eyes  along  the   plain 

Where   Death's  dark  path  is   seen  ; 
Lo  !    Life  once  more  with  quickening  tread 
Walks  through  that  valley  of  the   dead, 
And  all    the  world  is  green ! 

The  fallen  pine  tree's  dusty  mold 
Doth  in  its  pregnant  ruins  hold 

Live  germs  of  statelier  trees  ! 
Those  lambs  that  died    have  yielded  place 
To  others    of  a  hardier  race ; — 

New  fiowers  perfume  the  breeze. 

The  aged  man,  the  child,  the  youth 
Have  left  us  mourning  here,  in  truth; 

But  Life  doth  triumph  still; 
Death  only  slew  their  baser  part: 
Small  triumph  to  his  boasted  dart  ! 

Man's  soul  he  cannot  kill ! 


Geanger. 


Victoria,  111.,  January,  1888. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  H9 


THE  BANQUET. 


(Read  by  Mr.  J.  W.  Temple  at  the  Reporters'  Banquet.) 


The  word  goes  forth:   from  south   and  north 

The  item-gatherers  flock  ! 
From  west  and  east,  they  scent  the   feast 

That  waits   at  one   o'clock  ! 
We  hungry  wielders  of  the  quill, 

From  garrets   cold   and  bare. 
With   sharpened   wits  and  right  good   will 

Your  bounty   haste  to   share. 

From   fair  Oneida's   prairie   home, 

Ontario's   special  pride; 
From  bright  Altona  too  ,  they   come, 

Reporters  true  and  tried  ! 
From  Abingdon,  for  learning  famed, 

From  Utah   (don't  suppose 
"Our  Dick,"   because  the  town's  so    named. 

For  "plural  wifehood"  goes  ! ) 

Yates  City  an  "Observer"  sends, 

A  staunch  reformer   he, 
Who  many  a   temperance  moral  blends 

With  "items"  good  to  see. 
Victoria — railroad-slighted  town — 

Her  weekly  budget  brings, 
And  classic   Brush  Creek,  too,  sends  down 

Her  store  of  local  things. 


150  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

And  Soperville— blest  land  of  coal — 

Safe  'mong  our  winter  blizzards, 
No  "coal  trust"  ring  can  vex  her  soul, 

And  freeze  their  hearts  and  gizzards ! 
Liog  City,  too,  finds  lots  to  do 

This  chilly  zero  weather; 
Of  Jingling  bells   "S.  O.  A."  tells, 

And  jolly  rides  together ! 

Who  that  has  gone  to  brisk  Maquon, 

So  natty,  live   and  frisky, 
Failed  ever  yet  good  fare  to  get. 

Unless  he  called  for  whisky ! 
And  Knoxville,  too— 'twixt  me  and  you, 

Few  cities  can  excel  it ! 
And  as  for  news,  just  bet  your   shoes, 

They've  lots  there  if  they'd  tell  it! 

Wataga  answering  to   the  call. 

Comes  dashing  down  the  "Q", 
And  little  Rio  speeds  the  ball, 

As  "H"  is  prompt  to  do; 
The  dinner  horn  through  Copley  sounds. 

Her  "Granger"  hears  it  "toot". 
And  prompt  o'er  "Barefoot's"  frozen  grounds, 

Comes  trudging  in  afoot  ! 

Galesburg — "grand,  central  reservoir" 

Of  news  from  town  and    city. 
Sends  bright  "Fred  J."  to  glean  her    store 

Of  items  wise   and  witty, 
Alas,  that  such  Damascus  blade, 

(Or  pen)  so  keen  and  true 
Should  tax  its  power  each   day  and  hour 

To  fight  the  whisky  crew  ! 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  151 

Last,  but  not  least,  to  grace  our  feast 

Like  Grand  Mogul,  or  Czar, 
Friend  Beatty's    face,  with  courtly  grace 

Beams  on  us  like  a  star; 
Or  like  the  moon  some  night  in  June, 

Calm,  full-orbed  and  serene, 
Caught  winking  at  ''that  same  old  'coon," 

On  some  old  rail  pile    seen! 

I   greet  ye.  Warriors  of  the  Press, 

Knights  of  the  conquering  Pen ! 
Grim  veterans  in  the  war  of  Thought, 

Who  storm  the  hearts  of   men ! 
Not  yours  to  wield  war's  flashing  swords. 

The  bayonet's  glittering  steel. 
But  thought,  hurled  forth  in  crushing  words, 

Makes  haughtiest  despots  reel ! 

Proud  members  of  the  "Fourth  Estate", 

Whose   empire  knows  no  bounds. 
Whom  kings  and  caitiffs  fear  and  hate. 

Whose  praise  each  freeman  sounds. 
Voice   of  the  people's  changeful  mood. 

Potent  for  good   or  ill, 
But  chainless  as  the  swelling  flood 

That  heeds  no  master's  will ! 

God  grant,  the  Press  may  aye  be  found 

In  freedom's  cause  arrayed; 
Grant  that  its  clarion  voice  shall  sound 

Where  virtue  needs  it  aid ! 
Grant  that  its  fearless  blows  shall  fall 

On  the  tough  head  of  Sin, 
And  drive  from  home  and  festive   hall 

The  powers  of  Rum  and  Gin ! 

Granger. 
Galesburg,  lU.,  Feb'y  15,  188S. 


152  A   SHEAF   OF  GRAIN. 


Toledo  Blade. 
GROVKR'S   POPULARITY, 


"Clevelmid   is  very  x>opular  abroad,''''  tcrites  a  foreign  correspon- 
dent and  admirer. — Daily  Newspaper. 


"  Hurrah   for  bold  Grover  !*'  the  Johnny   Bulls   shout ; 

'•  He'll  give   us   his  markets  and  turn  the   Yanks  out  I 

We'll  sell  'em   our  iron,  our  cloth  and  all  that, 

And  his  workmen  will  starve  while  oxir  paupers  gi*ow  fat ! 

"  Huzza  for  bold  Grovaire  !"  the  Jean  Crapeaus  yell. 
"  Huzza   for  free  trade,  ven  veVe  somesing  to   sell  f 
Ve  sail  sell  zem   ze  brandy,  ze  champagne,  ze  grog. 
But,  by  gar !  ve   no  buy  ze  Americain  hog  !" 

"  Yah  !  Cleveland  ist  goot !"  grunts  old   Bismarck  with  glee, 
"  Und  ve'll  tax   Yankee  meat,  and  he   dakes  our  wool  free  1 
Vot  I  cares   for  de  West  mit  deir  wheat  und  deir  pork, 
Ven  our  beer-drinkers  gif  us  der  sdate  of  New  York?" 

The  Canucks,  our  next  neighbors,  his  triumph  much  wish. 
Since  he  gives  them  their  way  in  the  squabble  for  fish; 
From  a  jug  handle  treaty  to  British  free  trade, 
They  have  only  to  ask  and  the  bargain  is  made  ! 

Yes,  they  drink  Cleveland's  health  in  France,  England  and  Spain, 

And  they  shout  "  a  new  Cobden  is  risen  again  !" 

They  praise  him  in  Berlin,  Vienna  and  Rome, 

But,  just  mark  what  I  tell  you— we'll  beat  him  at  home ! 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  153 

Ah  'tis  nice  to   be   praised  by  the  English  and  Dutch, 
But  the  praise   of  our  foes  don't  bamboozle  us  much ! 
We  take  in  their  tafify  while  winking  one  eye, 
And  remember  the  tale  of  the  Spider  and   Fly  ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  111. 


WHAT  GROVER  SAYS. 


"  The  soldier  is  a  naughty   man  ; 
He'll  rob  the   treasury  if  he  can; 
They'll  help  each  others  little  plan," 

Thus  writes  the  Pres.; 
"  Such  would-be   paupers  I  despise ; 
They've  hoodwinked   Congress  with  their  lies  ; 
Lucky  the  President's   more  wise  !" 
So  Grover  says. 

"Why  should  the   people  bear  the   strain 
Of  tax,  these  veterans  to   maintain  ? 
We've  paid  them  o'er  and   o'er  again," 

Writes  our   kind  Pres.; 
"Why  should  I  care  how  they  exist? 
I  never  asked  them  to  enlist  ! 
I  was  a  non-coercionist," 
So  Grover  says. 


154  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

"  Their  bloody  deeds  I  much  deplore ; 
Twas  shocking  taste  to  go  to  war  ! 
I  never  hankered  after  gore," 
Boasts  our  meek  Pres.; 
"They  had  a  soft  thing,  to  my  view; 
Three  years  they  strutted  round  in  blue, 
And  fattened  on  free  rations  too," 
So  Grover  says. 

"Some  luckless  chaps,  'tis  true,  were  shot. 
And  spilled  some  blood  where  armies  fought ; 
But  they  were  paid  for't,  were  they  not  ?" 

Remarks  the  Pres.; 
"Now,  they're  grown  fleshy  and  'obese'; 
(I  own  Fm  quite    a  tub  of  grease, — 
Quite  proper  for  a  man  of  peace,") 
Fat  Grover  says  ! 

"  I'd  not  make  voting  soldiers  mad  ; 
Their  sufferings  really  make  me  sad  ! 
But  then,  their  habits  are   so  bad," 

Sighs  our  good  Pres.; 
("I  drink  a  little  beer  myself, — 
I  keep  some  whisky  on  •  my  shelf  ; 
'Tis  furnished  free—  I  save   my  pelf;") 
Shrewd  Grover  says ! 

"  Twelve  dollars  a  month  they're  asking  for ! 
(I  get  four  thousand — somewhat  more. 
With  house  and  furnishings,  good  store." 

Muses  our  Pres.;) 
"They  hold  fat  offices  of    late. 
In  all  departments  in  the  State ; 
(Less  Federals  than  Confederate,") 
Sly  Grover  says. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  155 

"So,  I'm  constrained  against  my  will, 
To  veto  this  atrocious  bill  ! 
(I  hope  my  prospects  it  won't  kill,") 

Thinks  our  sharp   Pres.; 
"  But  something  must  be  done,  that's  clear. 
To  hold  the  "Solid  South"  next  year; 
The  Mugwumps  will  protect  my  rear," 
Wise   Grover    says  I 

Yes  !  brand  him   pauper,  perjurer,  thief, 

Who  saved  the  land  that  owns  thee  Chief  ! 

Withhold  thy  paltry,  grudged  relief. 

Cold-hearted  Pres.! 

But  learn,  when  all  too  late,  that    Fame 

Will  blush   to  sound  thy  sordid  name ; 

And  honest  men  will  read  with  shame, 

What  Grover  says  ! 

Grangeb. 
Victoria,  111.,  Feb'y.,  1887. 


THE  LOST  ATLANTIS. 


[Read  at  the  Republican-Register^ s  annual  meeting,  at     Gales- 
burg,  Feb.  20th.] 


Five  thousand  years  their  course  have  sped 

Since  waters  dark  and  deep 
Rolled  o'er  these  islands  of  the   dead 

And  wrapped  their  endless  sleep  ; 


156  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

And  finny  tribes  in  peace   disport 
Where  men  fierce  wars  maintained, 

And  monsters  of  the  deep  consort 
Where   human  monsters  reigned. 

Time  was,  when  Ocean's  waves  dashed  high 

'Gainst  many  a  rock-ribbed   isle 
Stretched  far  toward  the  western   sky, 

To  catch  the   sun's   last  smile  ; 
But  mid  those  groups  of  islands  rare 

With  tropic  verdure  dressed, 
Atlantis,  fairest  of  the  fair 

Reigned  queen  o'er  all  the  rest. 

Here   Nature,  in  a  generous   mood 

Her  richest  bounty  spread  ; 
Here,  Earth,  untilled,  with  choicest  food 

Her  favored   children  fed  ; 
Their  tempered   air  no   winter   knew, 

No   summer  heat   oppressed  ; 
Their  lands  were   rich,  their   wants  were   few. 

Their  toils   with   plenty   blessed. 

Yet,  while  to  this  thrice-favored  land 
God's  choicest  gifts  were  given, 

Man's  wicked  heart  and  cruel   hand 
Marred  all  the  gifts  of  heaven  ; 

For  here,  a  thousand  years  before. 
Driven  by  the  wrath  of  God, 

The  murderer  Cain  his  sorrows  bore 
:  To  this,  his  Land  of  Nod  ! 

His  wife,  sad   sharer  of  a  name 

Henceforth   by   man  abhorred. 
Braved  death  and  danger,  toil  and  shame 

To  cheer  her  banished  lord. 
Since  man  was  thrust  from  Eden's  bowers. 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  WI 

Through  earth's  rough  paths  to  rove, 
No  cloud  that  o'er  his  pathway  lowers 
Can  dim  the  light  of  Love  ! 

Half-crazed  with  terror  and  remorse, 

Earth's   wilds  they  hurried   o'er, 
Till,  following  still  a  westward  course, 

They  reached  old   Ocean's   shore. 
And  where,   on  Afric's  burning  sand. 

His  waves  dash,  cool  and  bright. 
They  reached  the  limits  of  the   land 

And  rested  from  their  flight. 

But  fear  of  man's  avenging  hand 

Vexed  the  crazed  soul   of  Cain : 
A  boat  they  built,  and  from  the   strand 

Rowed  o'er  the  trackless  main. 
From  isle  to  isle,  from  land  to  land 

Their  fragile  vessel  pressed. 
Till  on  Atlantis'  sea-girt  strand 

Their  venturous  prow  found  rest. 

Here  were  their  wretched  wanderings  stayed, 

Where  human  foot  ne'er  trod  ; 
Here,  'neath  the  trees  their  bower  they  made, 

But  gave  no  thanks  to  God. 
And  children   came,  to  claim  their  care, 

And  cheer  their  lonely  days. 
Who  never  heard  a  father's  prayer, 

A  mother's  song  of  praise  ! 

No   altars  blazed  with  grateful  fire. 

No  offerings  meet  were  given. 
For  pride  and  ire  still  swayed  the  sire. 

And  shut  his  heart  from   Heaven  ! 
And  strong,  and  passionate,  and  wild, 


158  A  SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

Their  godless  children  grew; 
Each  lawless,  disobedient  child, 
Was  soon  their  tyrant  too! 

And,  as  they  grew  to  man's  estate, 

No  peace  these  valleys  knew, 
For  anger,  rivalry  and  hate 

Among  the  brothers  grew. 
And  crimes,  the  curse  of  Adam's  race, 

Pierced  the  bowed  soul  of  Cain, 
When  his  first-born,  before  his  face 

Was  by  his  brother  slain  ! 

Time  passed ; — their  children's  children  grew, 

And  filled  the  islands  near  ; 
No  peace  the  warring  kinsmen  knew, 

No  law  but  sword  and  spear  ; 
Their  lands,  attuned  to  peaceful  life. 

Where  saints  in  joy  might  dwell, 
Through  lawless  hate  and  vengeful   strife 

Were  made  an  earthly  hell ! 

For  Crime  stalked  boldly  forth  by  day, 

And  Might  made  Right  alone  ; 
And  weakness  was  the  robber's   prey, 

And  Virtue  was  unknown. 
No  voice  from  Sinai's  awful  height 

Thundered  the  laws  of  Heaven, — 
No  Savior,  to  these  islands  bright 

His  boon  of  love  had  given  1 

A  thousand  wretched  years  had  sped 
Since  here  the   Murderer  came  ; 

And  still  on  Cain's  devoted  head 
Heaped  sorrow,  sin  and  shame  ; 

And  ruthless  War  with  fire  and    brand 
His   bloody  work  still  plied. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  159 

Till   'neath  his  red,  relentless    hand 
Full  half  his  race  had  died! 

Glad  to  escape  this  vale  of  tears, 

His  wife's  sad  soul  had  flown, 
And  for  five  hundred  weary  years 

He'd  borne  his  woes   alone. 
His  sons  were  slain;  their  seed  despised 

And  mocked  his  hoary  head, 
And  all  his  withered  heart  e'er  prized 

Were  numbered  w4th  the  dead. 

"God  of  my  Youth  !"  the  murderer  cries, — 

"  God  of  my  guiltless  years 
When  prayer  could  pierce  yon  vaulted  skies 

And  bend  the  listening  spheres  ! 
Thou  God  my  pride  has  shunned  to  own, — 

My  Maker  and  my  King, — 
I  bow  at  last  before  Thy  throne. 

One  first,  last  prayer  to  bring  ! 

"Grant  that  this  blood-besprinkled  plain. 

These  valleys  stained  with  gore ; 
These  dells,  oft  heaped  with  kindred  slain. 

This  sin-polluted  shore,— 
This  sod,  that  hides  a  thousand  graves 

Where  slaughtered  kinsmen  sleep, 
May,  whelmed  by  all-engulfing  waves 

Sink  'neath  the  surging  deep  ! 

"Grant  that  of  all  who  own  me   sire. 

Or  trace   from  Cain  their  line. 
The  last  dimmed  vital  spark  expire 

Quenched  in  the  bubbling    brine ; 
And,  as  the  hilltops   disappear 

Deep  'neath  the  billowy  plain, 


160  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

With  earth's   first  murderer  perish  here 
The  crime-cursed  sons  of  Cain!" 

His  prayer  is  heard  ;  Heaven's  awful  word 

Answers   Earth's   first-born  child  ; 
The   huge  hills  to  their  base  are  stirred, 

The   seas  surge   fierce  and  wild; 
Earth   heaves  ;  vast   rocks,   their  bases    broke, 

Rush   from  the  mountains   high ; 
And  lurid  flame  and   sable  smoke 

Roll  toward  the   darkened   sky ! 

As  round  some   ship  whose  ruptured  side 

Swills  in  the  conquering  wave. 
Then   staggering,  plunges  'neath  the  tide 

Which   parts  to   shape   her  grave, 
So  rush  the   seas  to  claim  their  prey; 

So  the  mad  waves  divide. 
And  fair  Atlantis  sleeps    to-day 

Beneath  old   Ocean's  tide  I 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  111.,  Feb.  1889. 


A    SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  161 


"■Hon.    Clark   E.   Carr,  of  Galesburg,  has  just   been   appointed 
by  the  President,  os  U.  S.  Minister  to  Denmark,'"— Chicago  Tribune. 


ON   TO   COPENHAGEN  ! 


To   Denmark's  Capital, 
Swift  as   brave   ship   can   sail, 
When  steam  and  wind  prevail 

Over   rough  waters. 
Soon  to   King  Christian's  court 
Shall  our   bold   Carr  resort, 
With   their  tall   sons  to   sport. 

And   their  fair    daughters ! 

Wrapt  in   his   robes  of  fur, 
Uncle  Sam's  Minister- 
Lord  !  won't  he   make  a  stir 

'Mong  Denmark's   beauties  ? 
Hero  and  Scald  shall   hie 
Galesburg's  great    son  to   spy ! 
While   statesmen   linger   by. 

Learning  their  duties ! 

Shade  of  Canute,  the  Great, 
Smasher  of  England's  state, 
On   this  high  pageant  wait, 
With  Hilda,  thy    lady! 
Svend,  of  the  Forked  Beard, 


162  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

Have  all  your  banners    reared, 
Olof,  the   loved  and  feared, 
And  Harold   Hardrada  ! 

Ye  Sea  Kings,   come  again. 
With   ships  that  ruled    the   main, 
A  grim   and  grisly  train, 

So  dark  and    gory, — 
Leave  your   cutlasses  behind. 
We  are  nervously  inclined. 
Their  flashing  calls  to   mind 

An  ugly   story  ! 

Mid  all  the  mighty  host 
Denmark's  proud  land    can  boast 
Let  Hamlet's  father's    ghost 

Start   from   his  slumbers  ; 
Halfred,  the   Scald,  awake  ! 
Thy  harp's   long  silence  break  ! 
Since   for  King  Olaf's   sake 

Twanged   its  wild  numbers ! 

Greet  ye  with    feast  and  rout 
Cannon,  and  festive  shout. 
Him  whom  our  town  sends  out 

Guest  to  the   Dane  ! 
Odin,   return   once   more  ; 
Gaze   on   lost   hill   and   shore : 
Put  by  your  thunders,  Thor, 

And  come  again  ! 

Let  fair-haired  Freya  gaze 

In  goddess-like   amaze 

On  fetes  of  modern  days  ! 

Not  so  of  yore, — 
Then  pirates,  swart  and  grim. 
Brawny  and  long  of    limb. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  163 

Sailed   at   the   beck  of  him 
Who  sought  your  shore ! 

When,  swift  from  Jotunlaud, 
Claiming  her  promised  hand, 
Leading  his  stalwart  band 

Marched  the  bold  giant : 
Then,  with  fierce  clash  and  clang, 
Denmark,  thy   echoes   rang  ! 
Perished  the  Jotun  gang. 

Crushed,  but  defiant ! 

History   fails  to   say. 

If,  to   sharp  grief  a  prey 

Poor  Freya's  heart  gave  way, 

Losing  her  lover ! 
Could   she  but  love  again  ! 
Goddess,  that  hope  is  vain- 
Clark  E/s  a  married  man  ! 

Lay  that  hope  over  ! 

What  shall  you  give  the   Dane? 
How  bless  King  Christian's  reign  ! 
Statecraft  they'll  hold  as  vain. 

Wisdom   a  joker  ! 
To  the   occasion   rise ! 
Take  noble  Shenck's   advice — 
Wean  them  from  senseless   dice — 

Teach  them  draio  poker! 

Granger. 

May   21,   ISS'J. 


164  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


SONQ  OF"  THE  SALOON. 


"Oh,  I  am  the   druukard's  strong  retreat, 

The   home   of  roystering  blades ; 
The   thief  and  the   burglar    here   may  meet 

To  plan  their  nightly   raids. 
I   furnish  the   power  in   an   evil   hour 

The  assassin's  nerves  to  steel, 
When  his  maddened  brain  gloats  o'er  the  slain^ 

Or  his   steps  from   the   slaughter   reel  ! 

"The  trade   I   ply,  to  the   widow's   eye 

Bids  the  gushing  tear-drops   start, 
But  what  care   I   for  the   orphan's   sigh 

Or  the  wail  of  a  breaking  heart ! 
Though  manhood's  pride  o'er  the  gutter's  side 

My  poisons   daily   fling. 
Who  shall  say  me   nay,   while   my  gold   I   pay. 

And  my  dole  to  their  coffers  bring  ? 

•"Oh,  'tis  jolly  sport,  while  the  solemn   Court 

O'er  their  crime-filled  dockets  toil, 
In  my  licensed  den  to  be   prompting  men 

The  judges'  work  to  spoil  ! 
"When  the  sweet  church  bell  to  the    town   doth  tell 

Of  the  waiting  house  of  prayer, 
I  think  with  a  grin  how  I'll  backward  win 

These  souls   to  my   Devil's  lair  ! 


A  SHEAF  OK  GRAIN.  165 

What  joy   I  take   my  gold   to   wliake 

In  the  tax-payer's  stupid   face ! 
With  the  money  he  saves  his  way  he   paves, 

To  the   sinner's  waiting  place ! 
And   I   think   with  a  leer  that,   even   here 

When  these   fools   o'er  their  taxes   quake, 
Each   dollar  paid   by   my  licensed  trade 

They  lose   by  the   costs   I   make  ! 

Each   cringing  slave  who   his  tax   would  save, 

Doth   welcome   my   doubtful  aid  ; 
But  his  sons  come   here  and  spend  for    beer 

What  the   father  makes  by  trade  ! 
And   the   wealth  they   store,   (when  their  life  is  o'er. 

And  their   heirs   have   got  their   "  tin,"j 
Will  all   be  spent,  to  the  last  red   cent, 

At   my  bar   for   rum   and  gin  !" 

The  gay   Saloon   here   hummed   a  tune 

To  the   air  of  "  Old   King  Cole ;" 
And  it  shook  its  side  in  gleeful   pride. 

Till  it  started  its   kegs   to  roll ! 
And   it   winked  its   eye   at  a   passer   by. 

An  Alderman   of  renown, 
And  it  "set  'em  up,"  in   a   brimming  cup 

For  the   Mavor  of  the  town  ! 


Victoria,   111.,  Feb'y,  1888. 


Granger. 


166  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


OLD  SETTLERS'  MLEETINQ. 


"  The  audience  then  listened  to  an  original  poem  by  J.  W. 
Temple,  which  urns  well  received  and.  heartily  applanded.  It 
loas  as  follotvs:'' — Knox  Co.  Republican. 

We  meet  to-day,  we  gray-haired   folks, 

To  spin   our  yams  together, 
Beneath  these   sheltering   elms  and    oaks 

This  pleasant   August   weather  ; 
To  tell  hov/,   many  years  ago, 

'Ere  we  were  one-and-tv/enty, 
We  left  our  Eastern  homes  to  go 

Where  land   was  cheap   and    plenty. 

Mayhap  we   sometimes   stretch   the   truth  ! 

The  fault   in   age  grows  common, 
When  telling  of  the  feats  of  youth, 

Done   by  brave   man  and  woman ; 
That  Jones,   who   thinks  his   memory's   clear. 

Will  confidently  say 
He  "  hoofed  it  "  from  Peoria  here  ; 

And   back,  one   Summer  day  ! 

Then,  Brown  minds   well,  one  Winter    morn 

Nigh  fifty  years  ago, 
He  took  to  mill  a  grist  of  corn. 

Through   four  foot  depth  of  snow  : 
'Twas  forty   miles   he   had   to   go,— 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN,  167 

My,   but   he   thought   he'd   freeze ; 
The   mercury   sank  that   night  as    low 
As  sixty-nine  degrees  ! 

Then,  Robinson  puts   in  a  lick 

To  carry  out  the  tvine  : 
"The  ice  that  year  froze   nine  feet    thick 

And  didn't  thaw  till  June  ! 
He   planted  corn  the   Fourth,  -his   dame 

Went  out  to   help   him   drop  ; 
The   frost   held   off  till   Christmas   came,— 

He   raised  a  staving   crop  !" 

"  The  wolves,  that  year,   grew   awful   bold," 

One  chap  remembers  then  ; 
"They'd  steal  the  sheep   from  out   his   fold, 

The  fat  pigs  from   the    pen. 
They  gathered  round   one    moonlight   night, — 

He  took   his   old   smooth-bore : 
He   shot   and   killed   sixteen   outright 
And   wounded   twenty  more  !" 

"  That  minds   me   of   b'ar  I   shot," 
Says  greybeard   number  three  ; 
"I  tracked  him  till  the   cuss  I   caught 
High    up   an   old  bee-tree  ; 
I'd   a   flint-lock  that  never   missed  ; 

I   fetched   him   to  the  ground ; 
He   measured  ten   feet   round   the   chist, 
And  weighed  twelve    hundred   pound !" 

"The   woods   were   full   of   honey    then, — ■ 
One   of  the   biggest  trees 
Stood  on  the   laud  of  Uncle  Ben, 

And   fairly  swarmed   with   bees  ; — 
Took   Ben   and  me  three   days  to  cut ! 
You  bet,   we   worked   with   vim ; 


168 


A    SHEAF   OF   GRAIN'. 

We  got   four   barrels  from   the   butt, 
Aud   one  from   every   limb  !"' 

"  Spoou  river  was  alive   with   fish,"' 

Another   hastes  to   say  ; 
"We  allers  "lowed  to  have   a  dish 
For  breakfast  every  day. 
I   mind  one   flood   we   had  ;   the   grass 

Just  squirmed   for  acres   round ; 
I've  walked  a  mile  on  yaller  bass, 
And   never  touched   the    ground !" 

"  The  seasons  change  of  late,  I  find,"  „ 

Another  answers  pat, 
"One  year  we'd  frosts  each  month,  I   mind. 

And  sharp   ones  too,   at  that ! 
Our  children  all  were  sick   with   coughs  ; 

In  August   'twas,   I    think. 
We  chopped  ice   in  the  water  ti-oughs 
To  let  the  horses    drink!" 

"It  changed  so  sudden,  too,"  says  one, 

"I  mind,  one   day  in  June, 
Our  little  chaps,  in  quest  of  fun 

Went  swimming  in  the   Spoon. 
The  wind   switched   round;   I  came   from   town. 

Found  what  they  were  about. 
We   had  to  take  our  axes  down 

To  chop  our  young  ones  out !" 

"The  rattlesnakes  were  plenty  then," 

A   wrinkled  sage   began  ; 
"We  went  once  to  a  big  snake  den— 

Me  and  another  man. 
The   snakes  lay  torpid   in  a  pit ; 

Each   took  a  hickory   thong ; 


A    SilEAF   OF   GRAIN.  1(39 

We  killed   six   hundred  "tore   we  (jiiit, 
And  some   were  eight  feet   long  !*' 

Strange   how  our   memories  gain   strength 

When  turned  to   days   of  yore  ! 
Each  youthful  jump   doubles   in   length 

When   quoted   at   four    score  ! 
What  big  days'   work   we   used   to   do  ! 

How  we   could  chop  and   mow  ! 
What  stalwart  chaps  were   I  and  you 

Some   fifty  years  ago ! 

The   Greeks   old   Nestor's  yarns  all   praised, 

Even   while   they  grinned  to  hear ! 
Thought  the   old  boaster  somewhat  crazed, 

But  lent  respectful   ear ! 
So  we,   whose  working  days  are   o'er. 

Whose   muscles   shrink   with   age, 
With   bragging  yarns   our   children   bore 

While  lingering  on   the   stage  ! 

But,  truth  to  tell,   men  labored  then, 

Their  daily   bread   to    gain 
No  binder,   doing   work   of   men. 

Bound  tight  our  ripened  grain  ! 
No  mower  through   the   tangled   hay 

Resistless  sheared   its    ti-ack  ; 
No  horse-fork  filled  the   barn's  dajp   bay. 

Or  piled  the  swelling   stack  ! 

Top  buggies   in  that   day  were    few. 

Folks   rode   in   wagons   then  ; 
Which,  often,  well-broke  oxen  drew 

To  town  and  back   again. 
'Twas  the   smart  youngster's  joy   and    pride, 

Even  in  his  Vjoyhood's  years, 


170  A   SHEAF   OF   ORAIN. 

To  show   how   he   could   yoke   and  guida 
"  Them  'tarual  brindle  steers  !" 

And  many  a  gallant,  trim  and  tight, 

And  lass   he   wished  to  wed. 
To  spelling-school,   on   winter   night 

Drove  in  a  gay  ox-sled  ! 
My  fancy  sees  their  moonlight   ride, 

And  hears  their  courting  still, 
As  o'er  the  crusted  snow  they  glide. 

O'er  plain   and  slippery   hill  : 

"  Come,   Mary,   name   the   wedding  day  !" 

("Haw,   Bright,  you   ornery  cuss !") 
"Don't  make  a  fellow  wait  till   May  !" 

(•'That   ox   gits   wuss   and  wuss  !") 
"Come,   Molly,   dear!    Christmas   is   near! 

Have  pity,  love,  on  mer 
("Confound  that  awkward  brindle  steer  ! 
"  Gee,  Buck,  gol-darn  ye,  gee  !") 

"Now,   Mary,  give   me   one   for  luck! 

Just  one  !"    ("  Haw,  Bright,  ye  fool !") 
"  You  haven't  kissed  me   since  I  tuck 

Ye  home  last  spellin'-school  ! 
"  Um  ! — talk  of  strawberries  and    cream  ! 

That's  sweeter  than   all   sich  !" 
("Gol-blast  that  tarnel   tricky  team  ! 

They've   dumped  us  in  the   ditch  !") 

Our  wives  were  proud  of  housewife  lore, 
They  learned  to  card  and  spin  ; 

The  cloth  they  wove  their  husbands   wore, 
And  "  went  to  meetin'  in  !" 

And  ah  !   what  cheese   and   butter   then 
Our   rough   hewn   boards   would   crown  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF   ORAIN.  171 

Or  marketed  by  thrifty  meu 
Brought  groceries  from  towu. 

Such  noble  wives  helped  lay  the  base 

Of  fortunes  now  grown  gi-eat ; 
Such   mothers'   sons   have   climbed   to   place 

And   influence   in   the   State  ! 
Their  virtue,   industry   and    worth 

Were   to  their  children  given  ; 
They  taught  them   how   to  thrive   on   earth 

And  win  their  place   in  Heaven  ! 

We  took  what   mother  Earth  would  yield  ; 

We  raised  big  crops  of  wheat, 
Nor  from   Dakota's   distant   field 

Imported  bread  to  eat  ! 
Our  clothes  were  plain— we   worked   like   men  ; 

Each  earned   his  daily  food, 
Nor  were   such   v/ords  invented  then 

As  "Millionaire,"  and   "Dude!" 

Well,  times   are   changed  :     The   engine's   shriek 

Resounds  on  every  side  ; 
Across  the  plain— along  the   creek, 

Through  the   rent  hills  they  glide  I 
And  wealth  with   pride   and  fashion   blends, 

To   change   our   simple   ways  ; 
But   are   we   happier   now,  my  friends, 

Than  in   those   earlier   days  ? 

The   lightning   steed   asserts   his   power 

Untried  in  days   of  yore  ; 
And  Maine   holds  converse   hour  by   hour 

With   California's   shore  ! 
But  o'er  the   wires   no  tidings   run 

Can   so   our   hearts   inflame. 


172  A    SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

As,   when,  their   four  weeks  journej'   dune. 
Our  Eastern   letters  came  ! 

How  memory  loves  each   treasured    sceue  ! 

Those   cabins,   neat,   though   poor ! 
The   virgin   prairie's   sea  of  green 

That  stretched  from   door  to   door  ! 
The   honest  faith   'twixt  man  and    man, 

So   hard   of   late   to   find  ! 
The   friendships  that  in  youth   began 

When  all   were   poor  but   kind  ! 

'Tis  vain  to   mourn   our  vanished   youth 

Or  sigh  for  auld   laiuj  syne, 
"While   age,   with   kindliness   and  truth 

Sparkles,  like  bottled  wine  ! 
Still  to  the   past  the  aged  hold. 

Fond,  tender  and  serene, 
And  pray,   each   hour,   as   we   gi-ow   old, 

"  Lord,   keep   our  memories  green  !" 

J.  W.  T. 
Knoxville,  111.,   Aug.   10,   1888. 

It    was    mooed    and    carried,     that     Mr.    Temple's    poem    he 
published   and    made  part   of  the   records   of  the   Association. 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  "      173 


IN    iVlKMOKIAJVI. 


Bead  before  the  G.  W.  Trafton  Post,  G.  A.  R.,  at  Knoxville,  III^ 
on  Decoration  Day,  1888,  by  J.  W.  Temjile,  83d  III.  Vols. 


Why  meet  we  here  to-day  ? 
Why  bring  we   flowers   to  scatter  o'er  our   Dead  ? 
Why  hang  we  garlands  o'er  each   honored  head 

Culled  from  the   wealth  of  May  ? 

Is  it  that  these   have   died, 
Who  once   did   live,  and  toil,   and   hope   as  we  ? 
Does  Death  give   patent  of  nobility, 

To  claim  our  love  and  pride  ?     \ 

Grant,  that  the   pious  tear 
O'er  the  cold  clay  of  those  we  loved    should  fall, 
To  die  is  but  the  common  lot  of  all, — 

Why  mourn  o'er  strangers  here  ? 

Were  they  of  lofty  fame  ? 
Not  so:   from  lowly  homes  their  lives  have  sprung;— 
Their  toils,  their  sufferings,  their  brave  deeds  unsung. 

Unmarked  each  humble  name ! 

Who  wastes  an  idle  tear 
O'er  the  low  workman's  fate,  who  humbly   wrought? 
The  building  stands,  the  builder  is  forgot, 

Who  toiled  its  walls  to  rear ! 


174  A  SHEAF  OF  GHAIX. 

Cheops   and   Suphis   live; 
Caesar's  and  Alexander's  names  are  sung, 
But  humble   service   hath  nor  pen   nor  tongue 

Its  well-earned  meed  to   give ! 

What  have   our  soldiers   done  ? 
Three  thousand  died  at    Shiloh,  more   or  less; 
Ten  thousand   perished   in   the   Wilderness; — 

Some  thousands  at  Bull  Run; 

Many  at  Vicksburg  fell 
When  Grant  beat  down  that  stronghold;  thousands  more 
At  Nashville  died;    on  Franklin's  field  of  gore 

Death  mowed  their  columns  well ! 

Some  threw  their  lives   away, — 
Saw  undismayed  the  rebel  bayonets   shine 
What  time  fierce  Pickett  charged   the   Union   line 

At   Gettysburg,   one   day ! 

Some  climbed  the   steep   hillside 
Where  in  Fort  Donelson  the  rebels   lay, — 
Met  the  fierce  hail  of  death  that  swept  their  way, 

And,   pressing  upward,   died. 

Some  at  Stone   River  bled; 
Some  lost  their  lives  on  Chattanooga's   plain,— 
Some,   climbing.   Lookout's   dizzy   heights   to  gain. 

Whence   Bragg's  scared  veterans  fled  ! 

Some   on  their  gunboats'   decks 
Braved  with  bold  Parragut  the   batteries'   fire, — 
Some  faced  the  Merrimac's  resistless   ire 

And  went  down   with  their  wrecks. 

■Some   fell  in   nameless   fray, — 
Mid   rush  of   steeds,   and   din   of  clashing   steel, 
Thrown,  bleeding,   'neath  the  courser's  spurning  heel 

Gasped  their  spent  lives   away  ! 


A   SUEAF  OF   GRAIN.  175 

Some   fell   by   foes  unseen; 
Bushwhacked  at  midnight  on  their  lonely  beat; 
Ambushed,— surprised;— too   stubborn  to   retreat, 

Too   spirited   to   yield  ! 

Some,   in   foul   prisons  thrown. 
Starved  through  long  mouths   of  agony   and   pain, 
Wliile  their  stern  jailors,  gloating  o'er  the   slain 

Mocked  at   each   dying  groan  ! 

By  sickness  thousands  fell,-  - 
Death's  angel  hovered  o'er  the   stricken  camp; 
The   fiery  sun,   the  fever-breeding   swamp 

Slew  more  than  shot  and  shell. 

Some,   'scaping  sword  and  gun, 
Fought  to  the  end  unscathed,  reserved   by   fate, 
Till  Appomattox  closed  our  Janus-gate, 

And  blessed  Peace  was  won  ! 

Some,  with  sore  wounds  oppressed. 
On  staffs  and  crutches  walked  their  weary   round, 
Till  Death,  the  kindest  friend  the  poor  hath  found 

Brought  them  their  welcome   rest ! 

What  did  these   heroes    do  ? 
They  only  saved  a  Nation's  life,— no  more  ! 
Led  their  loved  country  safe  through  seas  of  gore,— 

Saved  it  for  me   and  you  ! 

Was't  worth  the   lives  they  lost? 
Ask  the   dead  heroes  who  our  freedom    won  ! 
Ask  the  grim  warriors  led   by  Washington 

What   our   loved   Union   cost? 

Ask  the  old   world   to-day 
Which   despots  rule  !    It  turns  its   eager  eyes 
Where  Hope's  bright  star  shines  in  the  Western  skies 

O'er  free  America  ! 


ITG  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Ask   centuries  to  come; 
Ask    the   dense  millions   who  this  sward  shall  tread 
When  we  and  ours  are  numbered   with  the   dead, 

And  our  weak  voices    dumb ! 

What  was  these   martyrs'  gain  ? 
Scant  glory  to  the   common  soldier  fell  ! 
"  A   victory  won  "  !    the   flaring  headlines  tell,— 
"Ten  thousand  soldiers  slain !  " 

What  did  their  service  cost? 
Life,  health,  home,  hope,— all  that  for  which  we  live, 
All  that  men  prize,  and  bounteous  Heaven  can  give 

These   heroes  staked,  and  lost! 

So,  'neath  this  vernal  sky. 
We  sad  survivors  of  the  struggle  meet, 
And,  grateful,  strew  the  sod  beneath  our  feet 

Where  these  brave  martyrs  lie ! 

Their  names  we   scarce  recall, 
But,  though  our  feeble  memories  grow    dim, 
Our  God   forgets  not  !    Leave  we  them  to  Him, 
To  bless  them,   one  and  all ! 
Knoxville,  111.,   May  30,   1888. 


A  SHEAF   OF  GRAIX.  177 


Queen   Victoria   to   Grover   C,    After   His   Defeat. 


Deae  Grove:    H'im  sad  and  h'angry  too, 

To  'ear  'ow  you've  been  dusted; 
Ve  'ad  such  'eavenly  times  in  view 

Hand  now  our  'opes  is  busted  ! 
Hi  dreamed  ve'd  nabbed  your  blarsted  trade,- 

Ve'd  figured  up  the   plunder, 
Then  Sacky  Vest  the  dickens  played, 

And  knocked  our  schemes  to  thunder  ! 

Dear  G., — hit  was  a  beastly  sin 

And  all  the   world  is  chaffing, 
To  see  our  Henglish  lord  took  in. 

And  hevery  body  laughing  ! 
Hi  'ate  such  'orrid  party  tricks. 

With  'atred  strong  and  'earty ; 
Hi  scorn  your  country's   politics, 

But  love  your  free-trade   party ! 

Hi  'ate  a  land  where  plowmen    think 

While  turning  up  their  furrows  ; 
Where  voters  can't  be  bought  for  drink. 

And  sold  in  "  rotten  boroughs !" 
What  right  has  Pat,  fresh  from  the  bogs. 

To  argy  with  his  betters  ? 
Hi'd  'ave  a  law  that  Hodge  and  Scroggs, 

Should  never  learn  their  letters  ! 


178  A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN 

Hi  vish  you'd  come  hacross  the  sea,— 

Hi  vow,  such  thoughts  entrance  us  ! 
Ve'd  make  your  grace  Lord  Grover  C, — 

Your  wife  My  Lady  Frances. 
And  hif — for  such  things  chance,  you  know. 

There  comes  a  baby-Grover, 
He'll  rank  as  Prince  of  Buffalo, 

Vith  snobs  the  vide  vorld  over ! 

Your  friend  and  hadmirer 

Victoria,  H'empress  of  Hindia, 


To  Grover  Cleveland, 

Hex-President  of  Hamerica, 


..    I 


OLD  TO]VI  BROWN. 
An    Idyl    Of   W^hisky    Klat. 


The  saloons  were  all    a-booming,    and   the   gamblers    all    were 
flush. 
And  the  miners  and  the  bummers  filled  the  halls ; 
There  were  faro-sharps  from    Frisco,    with    their    tables    green 

with  plush,  A: 

There  were  thousand-dollar  pictures  on  the  walls ;  j; 

There  was  music,  there  was  dancing,  there  was  shooting  in  the 
streets. 
And  the  toughs  they  had  terrorized  the  town. 
And  they  had  their  swing  complete  till  one  day  they   chanced 
to  meet 
And  try  to  run  a  buck-saw  on  Old  Tom  Brown  1 


A   SUEAF  OF   GRAIN.  179 

Old  Tom  was  mild  and  civil,  and  his  voice  was  low  and  sweet, 

And  his  manners  all  were  peaceable  and  fair, 
And  he  measured  six  feet    two,  when    he    stood    in  stocking 
feet. 

And  in  girth  he  matched  an  able-bodied  bear ! 
But  he  had  a  pleasant  smile,  and  a   breast  devoid   of  guile, 

And  was  never  seen  to  swagger  or  to  frown, 
And  I  reckon  that's  the  reason  why,  in  an   unlucky  season, 

They  thought  they'd  bait  their  gudgeon-hook  for  Old  Tom 
Brown ! 

Tom  was  standing  by  the   Rink,  when  a  bully  gave  a  wink. 

And  he  signalled  to  the  toughs  to  gather    near. 
And  they  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and  they   asked  him  up 
to   drink. 
But  he   said  "  he  didn't  hanker  arter  beer  !" 
Then    they    smashed    his  new    plug  hat,  and  they  mashed  it 
very  fiat, 
Till  you  couldn't  sort  the  rim  out  from  the  crown, 
And  they  tried  to  yank  his  coat,  but  'twas    buttoned   at  the 
throat. 
But  he  took  it  all  good-naturedly,   did   Old  Tom  Brown. 

Then    a    bruiser    from    the    Bay,    with    his  "mauleys"   'gan  to 

play, 
While   old  Tom  sorter  warded  off  the   blows,— 
And  he  took  it  all  as  play,  and  he  tried  to   edge  away, 

Till  the  boxer  fellow  "caromed  on  his  nose"! 
And    two    buffers,    growing    bold,    tried    his    brawny    arms    to 
hold, 
And  another  grabbed  his  legs  to  trip  him  down  ; 
And  the  bruiser  on  the   sly  gave  him  one   "  to  dot    his  eye," 
And  they  thought  they  "had  the  deadwood "  on  Old  Tom 
Brown  ! 


180  .  A   SHEAF  OF  OKAIN. 

I  got  there  when   the  fun  had  only  just   begun, — 

And  I  wouldn't   missed  that   circus   for  a  dollar !, 
Tom  tumbled  to  their  racket,  and  he  took  'em  one  by  one, 

And,  oh  Lordy,   how  he  made  'em  yelp  and  holler ! 
He  led  out  his  dexter  paw,    and    he    smashed    that    bruiser's 
jaw, 

And   he  knocked  a  baker's  dozen  of  'em  down, 
And  he  kicked  across  the    street  the  moke  that   grabbed  his 
feet. 

Till  like  Iser,  they  "  rolled  rapidly  "  from  Old  Tom  Brown  ! 

But  they  rallied  soon,  and   swore  they  were  thirsting  for   his 
gore. 
And  they  gathered  round  with  derringers  in  hand. 
And    they    confidently    said    they    would    plug    his    hide    with 
lead. 
And  would  pile   his  ugly  carcass  on  the  sand  ! 
But    old     Tom    reached    round    behind    where     a    "  navy "    he 
could  find. 
And  each  barrel  brought  a  luckless  bully  down. 
And  the  toughs  made  haste  to  scatter  when  they  found  what 
was  the  matter, 
And  they  never  care  to  monkey  now  with  Old  Tom  Brown  I 

Granger. 
Victoria,  111. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  181 


LABOR. 


Ere   Mother  Earth   had  sprung  to   birth, 

Or  the  Sun  his  course  began, — 
Ten  million  years  ere  the  shining  spheres 

Shot  down  their  rays  on  Man, 
I  wrought  with  God  in  fields  untrod 

And   each  whirling  mass    controlled 
When  like  floating  clouds  the  nebulous  clouds 

Into   new-made   systems  rolled ! 

When  o'er  Earth's  dark  ball,  like  a  funeral  pall 

Thick  vaporous  curtains   lay 
Mine  was  the  wand  in  the   Maker's  hand 

That  waved  the  clouds  away ! 
I  guided  each   ray  the   god   of  day 

Shot  down  through  the   trackless  gloom. 
Till  the   Earth  rose   fair  from    her   darkling  lair 

Like   a  spirit   from  the  tomb  ! 

Her  blushing  face   'twas  mine  to  grace 

With  flowers,  like  a  radiant  queen, 
And  for  raiment  warm  o'er  her  comely  form 

I  spread  soft  robes  of    green; 
I   bordered  these  with  shimmering  seas; 

Fair  lakes,   o'er  the   smiling  land 
Shone   like    diamonds  bright  in  the  noonday  light 

And  each  stream  like   a  silver  band ! 


182  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

When  the   Six  Days  sped,  and,  a  bride  new-wed, 

Earth  blushed  'neath  the  Sun's  warm  kiss, 
By  the  Maker's  plan  I  was  sent  to   Man, 

Where  he  dwelt  in  Eden's  bliss. 
I  taught  his  hand  to  dress  the  land, 

I  brought  him   strength   and  skill  ; 
I  shaped   his  boat  o'er  the  wave  to  float. 

And  his  plow  the  soil  to  till. 

The  staunch  ship  glides   o'er  the   heaving  tides. 

But  fears  nor  wind   nor  wave. 
For  I  wrought  each  part  from  the  oak's  tough  heart 

And  tall  pines  for  its  masts  I  gave  ! 
Its  holds  I   fill  with  my   works   of  skill, 

With  my  food  for  lands  that    lack, 
And  her  charts  I  store  with  my  gathered  lore, 

To  guide  her  watery  track. 

The  gold  that  fills  the  merchant's  tills 

And  piles  the  banker's  board, 
I  dragged  it  forth  from  its  native   earth. 

Where  her  countless  wealth   lies  stoi*ed. 
The  gems  that  glow  o'er  a  monarch's  brow, 

The  gauds   that  deck  his  throne, 
They  were  snatched  as  spoil  from  the  hands  of  toil, 

They  are  Labor's  prize  alone ! 

The  prairies  wide  where  glad  millions  bide. 

Were  but  desert  wastes  of  yore, 
For  of  little  worth  were  the  plains  of  earth 

Till  my  plow-shares  turned  them   o'er ! 
And  of  what  avail  are  the  metals  pale 

Till  digged  from  their  caverns  low, 
Till  they  melt  in  the   ire   of   my  furnace-fire, 

And  are  shaped   in    my   forge's  glow  ? 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  183 

Shall  my  children  want,  while  idlers  vaunt 

The  wealth  they  have  shunned  to  earn  ? 
Shall  thieves  despoil  the  sons  of  toil, 

Who  the  world's  vast  mill-wheels  turn  ? 
Shall  the  grists  they  grind  their  dark  ways  find 

To  the  rich,  who  their  turning  shirk  ? 
Shall  they  feast  and  rest,  while  my  sons,  oppressed, 

FaH  fainting  at  their  work  ? 

The  great  may  laugh,  as  their  wine  they  quaff, 

At  the  groans  of  the   starving  poor; 
And  the  millionaire  may  his  schemes  prepare 

To  make   his  hoards  secure; 
But  the  despot's  chain  I  will  snap  in  twain, 

His  sword  shall  in  plow-shares  glow, 
And  the  wealth  and  state  my  sons  create 

To  their  toil-worn  hands  shall  go  ! 

For  the  day  comes  fast,  when  a  trumpet-blast 

I  will  sound  through  a  startled  land; 
I  will  rear  my  throne;    I  will  claim  my  own 

With  a  strong  yet  bloodless  hand ! 
Then,  my  flag,  unfurled  o'er  a  ransomed  world 

All  reverent  eyes  shall  draw. 
Where  Might  and  Right  in  peace   unite. 

And  Justice   sanctions  Law ! 

Gb  ANGER. 

Victoria,  111.,  Nov.,    1889. 


184  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


To  Editor  2J.  Beatty,  of  the  Republican -Register. 


So,  you've  reached  Three-score-and-ten, 

Beatty  of  the  trenchant   pen  ! 

Plodding  on  your  daily   round, 

In  your  sanctum's  narrow  bound; 

Growing  grizzled  in  your  den, 

Toiling  for  your  fellow-men; 

Tugging   at  the  cranks  that  still 

Turn  the  world's  opinion-mill ! 

Sifting  news  from  morn  till  night, 

Squibs  to  clip  and  thoughts  to   write, — 

Cheering  good  deeds  on  the  track, 

Holding  surging  evils  back;^ 

Prompt,  as  life's  swift  moves  occur 

With  the  timely   check  or   spur,^ 

Prompt  to  brand  each  specious   sham 

Threatening  harm  to  Uncle   Sam, 

And  each  sordid,  selfish  plan 

Framed  to  pinch  the  workingmau, 

Where  the  trusts  and  rings  combine 

To  corner  fruits  of  field  and  mine, 

And  sharp  railroad  kings  conspire 

To   raise   their  onerous   freight-rates   higher. 

And  shrewd  rings  their  thoughts  bestow 

To  keep  the  farmers'  produce  low  1 

Like  a  war-horse,   staunch   and  true, 
Helping  pull  your  party  through, 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  185 

While  its  howling   foes,  dismayed, 
Shout  "Free  Whisky  and   Free  Trade  I " 
And  seek  to  block  its  high  career 
With  British  gold,  and  kegs  of  beer! 

(When  the  heavy  work  is  done, — 
When   the   victory   is   wuu. 
Other  nags  rich  pastures  get, — 
The   war-horse  tugs  in    harness   yet ! ) 

Tell  us  how  the   world  appears, 
Beatty  of  the  lengthened    years  ! 
What  its  valuation,   when 
Priced  at  three  score  years  and  ten  ? 
Does  Life  look  a  troubled  dream  ? 
Do  its  prizes  tinsel    seem  ? 
Is"t  a  maze   without  a  plan  ? 
Have  you   lost  j'our  faith    in  man  ? 
Lost  belief  in  sterling  worth 
Looking  on  the   shams   of    earth  ? 
Have  the  youthful  hopes   you  fed 
Died,-  -and  is  your  faith,   too,   dead, 
That  your  country's  course   shall   be 
Towards  a  glorious   destiny  ? 

For  experience  warns  you   too. 
There  are  breakers   full  in  view. 
Labor  troubles,   party  strife. 
Plots  and  leagues,  with   danger   rife. 
Hostile   sections,   held  aijart 
By  the   demagogue's  base    art, — 
Rival  pilots,   fired   by   hate, 
Grasping  at  the   helm   of   state. 
Who,  if  their  ambition   fail 
Would  sink  the   ship  they  may  not    sail  ! 

Brother   Beatty  !   rise   and   tell, — 
(You  who  sling  a  quill  so  well,)— 
How  the   parties   held   their  ways 


186  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

In  old  ante-belhim  days ! 
Tell  us  of  the  lively  jig 
Danced  by  Democrat  and  Whig, 
When  Jimmy  Polk, — alas  the  day  ! 
Beat  our  gallant  Harry  Clay! 

Farther  back  your  mind  can  reach, — 
Once  again  the  story  teach 
How  Uncle  Sam,  a  deacon  rare. 
On  Hard  Cider  "took  a  tear"! 
How  whooping  wild  for  months  he  ran, 
And  tanned  the   hide  of  Matty  Van  ! 

Farther  still   we'd  joy   to  hear, — 
Of  brave  old  Jackson's  bright  career. 
How  the  "  bold  Britishers "  he'd  lamvi, 
And  "put  a  head"   on  Packingham  ! 
Tell  how  the  country  throve  and  sped, 
"  Old  Hickory "  for  its  figure-head  ! 
Nich.  Biddle's  schemes,  and  Swartwout's  pranks. 
And  vetoes  of  the  "  rotten  banks  !" 
But  spare,  oh  spare  the  tale  unkind 
Why  Jackson's  cabinet  resigned, — 
But  only  tell,  with  blushing  face, 
"  There  was  a  lady  in  the  case  1" 

But  more  than  all,  we'd  have  you    tell 
The  thrilling  tale  how  Sumter  fell ! 
How,  in  the  wounded  Nation's    aid. 
Her  stalwart  sons,  in  arms    arrayed, 
Stood  like  a  rock-ledge  in  the   main. 
Where  dashed  wild  Treason's  waves  in  vain  I 
How  o'erwhelmed  and  drenched  with  gore. 
Deafened  by  the  battle's  roar, 
Still  they  stood  in  sullen  pride. 
Still  they  barred  the    surging  tide. 
Till  the  waves,  exhausted,  fell,— 
Till  the  refluent  tide  of  hell. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  187 

Rolling   backward  ou  the  foe 
Whelmed  his  gates  and  laid  him   low  ! 

Tell  how  many  a  deathless  name, 
To  the  Nation's  rescue   came,— 
Grant,   the  generous  and  the  bold; 
Sherman,  next  in  glory's  fold; 
Sheridan,   thunderbolt  of    war, 
Striking  terror  near  and   far  I 
Hancock,   ever   prompt  to   do,^ 
Logan,   swarthy,  fierce   and   true, 
Farragut,   who  on  land  or  wave. 
Was  ever  bravest  of  the  brave  ! 
Who  can  give  their  names  to  song. 
When  the  list  is  thousands  long  ? 

Tell  how,  threatened  sore  with  wreck 
Like  a  Jonah  from   the   deck 
Slavery  to  the  waves  was  cast 
Howling  curses  to  the  blast ! 
How,   delivered   of  her  weight 
Safely  sails   our   Ship  of   State  ! 
Tell  what  wealth  and  power  and  pride 
On  her  sheltered  decks  now  ride, 
While  her  pennons  wide  unfurled 
Win  the  plaudits   of  the   world ! 

Precious  lore  your  age  bespeaks, 
Nestor  of  the   scribbling  Greeks ! 
And  your  memory  can  unpack 
Wares  our  younger  writers  lack. 
History,  from  whose  source  there  springs 
The  "true   inwardness"   of  things. 
And  that  wisdom,  good  as  gold, 
That  doth  enrich  and  bless  the  old  ! 

Ha!  he  speaks— the  hoary  sage, 
Rising  from   a  half-writ   page,— 
Glancing  up  with  humor   dry. 


188  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Winking  with   his  "  larboard  eye  ", — 

Beaming  like  a  new  tin  pan 

Spake  the  venerable  man : 

"  If  you're   keen  to   hear   my  racket,^ 

"  If  your  zeal  hath  stamps  to  back   it, 

The  Republican-Register  may  be   had  for  two  dollars  per 

year,  paid  strictly  in  advance — sent  by  mail  or  paid  in  at  the 

office. 

"N.  B.    Taffy's  cheap,  but   money  talks,  Z.  B." 

Granger, 
Victoria,  111.,  Dec.  7,  1889. 


To  Oordon  Bracl-cett,  Poet,  of  California. 


Friend  Gordon,— (a  friend  I  never  have   met 

And  belike  never  may,  but  a  friend  all  the   same, 
For  reading  your  poems   has  made   me   forget 

And  ignore  the  stern   fact  that  I  know  but  your  name,) 
Do  you   know,  then,   my  friend,  there   are   sympathies  rare 

Which   are   called  into  life   by   a  glance    or  a  word  ? 
That  memory   leaps   from   her  moss-o'ergrown   lair. 

At  some   poem  we've   read,  some  old  tune  we've  just  heard  ? 

So  in   reading  your  verses,  I  seem   to   float  back 
To  the  days  when  I,  too,  a  young  seeker  of  gold, 

In  your  placers  swung  shovel  and  pick, — but  alack  ! 
Dame   fortune,   in  spite  of  my   wooing,  proved   cold  ! 

She's    a    coy  old  coquette,   as  I   found  to   my   cost  ! 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  189 

( The   Miss  of  that  name,   though,  proved  constant  and  true, — 
She'll  stick  to  your  side  till  life's  battle  is  lost. 
And  cast   o'er  your  shoulders   her  mantle  of  blue!) 

But  still,  Hope   kept  piping  her  merriest  songs, — 

(By  the  way,   she  don't  sing  half  so  sweet  as  of  yore  !) 
How  she'd   pay  all   my  toils,  how  she'd   right  all  my  wrongs, 

(But  we  know   all  her  tunes — we've  all  heard  them  before !) 
Has  she  fooled  you,  too,  Gordon  ?    Or  were  you  too  wise, 

To  believe  her  gay  stories,  and  yield  to  her  sway  ? 
Or  like  a  kind  step-dame,  has  Fortune  her  prize 

In   Earth's  whirligig   lottery  thrown   in    your  way  ? 

I  think  not  !    ( "  And  why ",  you  are  tempted  to  ask  ! 

I'll  tell  you,  my  friend,   for  the   reason  is  clear,— 
No  Millionaire   flirts   with  the  Muses!  'twould  task 

E'en  Apollo,  to  tickle  old  Mammon's  dull  ear  !) 
Ah  me  !    I  remember,   when,  tired  and  blue, 

On  the  banks   of  the  Yuba  as  listless  I  lay, 
(In  my    youth's  callow  days— 'twas  the  year  '52,) 

How  I  versified  too,  in  a  terrible  way  ! 

I  would  summon  the  Muse— when  I'd   spent  all  my  "pile". 

And,  wrapt  in  gay  dreams,  all  my  sorrows  forget, 
And  many  a  much-abused  hour    beguile 

In  framing  bad  verse — as  you  see   I  do  yet ! 
Yet  little  I  knew  then,  a  dreamy  young  lout. 

While  the  metre  flowed  smooth,  and  the  rhyme  was  in  tune, 
That  the   fire  of   Oenhis  was  lacking, — or  doubt 

That  the  world  would   go  wild    o'er  my  minstrelsy  soon ! 

And  the  printers  !  ah   me,  how  they   flattered  my  rhymes ! 

'Twas  a  "  rising  young  poet "  they  dubbed  me,  alack. 
And  wise  Doctor  Fudge,  of  the  "  Pokerville   Times ", 

Swore  I  "  laid  over  Moore,  as  a   King  o'er  a  Jack !" 


190  A  SHEAF  OF  GHAIN. 

Yet  somehow,  my  judgment  still  whispered  the  while 
That  said  Tom  Moore,  and  Byron,  and  Shakspeare  »&   Co, 

Stowed  more  in  their  rhymes,  both  of  substance  and  style, 
Than  I  managed  to  squeeze   into  mine,  don't  you  know  I 

Had  you  dreams  of  fame  ever,  young  poet  ?    Pray  note, 

It  is  thirty-odd  years  since  those  callow  days  sped, 
I'm  a  sturdy  old  farmer  near  sixty,  and  dote 

On  my  cattle  and    pigs, — and  such  fancies  are  fled  I 
But  still  do  your  rhymes  from  the  Land  of  the  "West 

Call  back   to  my  heart  those  bright  dreams   of  my  youth, 
When,  beguiled  by  the  muse,  and  in  ignorance  blest 

I  took  Hope's  penny  horn  for  the  trumpet  of  truth  f 

Be  yours  better  treatment  by  Fortune  and  Fame ! 

The  genius  I  lacked  be  it  yours  to  display ; 
May  your  bank  account  grow,  and  your  solid  Scotch  name, 

Be  blest   by  the  Muses  forever  and  aye  ! 
And  never  forget,  as  you  toil  up  the  hill. 

To  the  Temple   of  Fame  where  the  nations  can  see, 
From  your  home  on  the  prairies  we're  watching  you    still 

Glad  and  proud  of  all   honor  that  waiteth   on  thee  ! 

J.  W,  T. 
Victoria,  111.,  Jan'y  18,   1882. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GBAIN.  191 


From   the   Inter-Ocean. 
ABRAM  BEN  HKWITT. 


Abram  Ben  Hewitt— may  his  sense  increase  ! 
Awoke  from  a  deep  dream  of  fox  and  geese, 
And  saw,  in  the  dim  moonshine  of  his  room. 
Making  it  weird  and  ghastly  as  a  tomb, 
A  forger,  writing  lies,  with  pen  of   brass. 
Exceeding  zeal  had  made  Abe  S.  an   ass  ; 
So  to  the  scribbling  scoundrel  there  he  said: 

'•What  writest  thou?"    The  writer  raised  his  head, 
Answering:  "A  letter  from  your  friend  James    G." 

"  What,  from  my  good  friend  Garfield !    let  me   see  ! 
And  is  it  genuine  ? "    queried  Abram   S. 

"Nay,"  said  the  forger,  ''that  I'll  scarce  profess, 
Since  I  just  forged  it ! "    Abram  spoke  more  low: 

"  It  looTcs  like  Garfield's  fist !    I   guess  'twill  go. 
With  my  endorsement,— for  the  world  must   ken, 
I'm  of  the  "breed  of  honorable    men"  ! 

The  forjer  winked,  and  vanished.    The  next  night 
He  came  again,  and  gave  his  work  to  light. 
Showing  a  list  of  forging  rogues  confest. 
And  lo !    Abe  Hewitt's  name  led  all  the  rest ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  111.,  Nov.  25,  1880. 


192  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 


From  The  Sacramento   (Cal.)   Bee. 
Lines  Kor   Gordon  Brackett's  New  Albunn. 


From  J.  W.  T. 


Dweller  in  the  Land  of  Gold, — 

Dweller  'neath  the  mountains  hoary, 
Where  huge  snow-wreaths,  white  and  cold 

Wrap  their  peaks  in  shining  glory, — 
Where  the  plain,  bedecked  with  flowers, 

Spreads  around  the  mountain  bases,^ 
Where  no  Winter's  chilling  powers 

Nip  their  stems  or  dim  their  faces, — 
Where  the  calm  Pacific's  waves 

Gently  lap  the  glittering    shingle, — 
Till  anon  the  Storm-King  raves, 

Making  sea  and  sky    commingle, — 
Dashing  spray  and  sheeted  rain. 

Howling  wind  and  wave-force  blended. 
Beat  the  rugged  rocks  in  vain. 

Till  their  frantic  power's  expended! 

Dweller  in  that  varied  land ! 

Thine  the  Poet's  easier  duty  ; 
Thine  the  mountain  prospect  grand. 

Thine  the  plain's  perennial  beauty ! 
Thine  the  ever-changing  sea, 


A   SHEAF  OF   QUAIN.  198 

Thine  the  wooded  wilds  primeval, 
Where   each   heavenward -towering  tree 

Boasts  itself    old  Rome's  coeval  ! 
Where,   beneath   their  mighty   boughs 

Savage   races   warred   and   perished ; 
Dusky   lovers   breathed   their  vows, — 

Built  their  homos, -their  loved  one   cherished, 
Passed  from  earth  and  left  no  sign, — 

Book,  or  scroll,  or  rock-carved  story, 
Painted  wall  or  graven  line, 

Record   of  their   shame   or  glory  ! 

Here  the  Poet's  skill  hath  play, — 

Tis  the   Art    Imaginative 
Brings   the   dark  Past  to  the   day. 

Half  historic,  half    creative  ! 
Rise,  then,  Poets  of  the  West  ! 

Let   the   mnged   horse  be  bridled ! 
Rouse  the   Muses  from   their  rest 

Where  too   long  the   sprites  have  idled  ! 
Bid  them   search   for   Runic  lore. 

In  the  forest,  on  the  mountain. 
Wander  on  old   Ocean's  shore, 

Skim  the  plain  and  haunt  the   fountain ! 
Richer  far  than  hoarded  gold 

Were  such  stores  of    garnered  treasure 
Found  by  mountain,  wood  and    wold, 

Gems  whose  worth  no  price   can  measure  ! 

Victoria,  111.,  June  4,  1882. 


194  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN 


From  The  National  Tribune. 
COIVIF'A^NY    K. 


Way  up  in  the  North,  where  the  giant   pines   stand, 
Tall  sentries  of   Time,  set  on  guard  o'er  the  land 
Ere  the  Genoese  sailor,   Columbus,  was   born, 
Or  Magellan   had  made  his  first  trip  around  the   Horn,^ 
In  the  land  of  the  hills,  where  the  breeze  from  the   sea 
And  the   balm  of  the  pines  fill   the  lungs  of   the   free, 
When  the  echoes  from  Sumter  had  scarce   died  away, 
Tliose  hills  saw  the  mtister  of   Company   K  ! 

Wouldst  know,  curious  friend,  of  what  stuff    it  was  made  ? 

Odd  sort  of  war-timber,  you'll  think,  I'm  afraid  ! 

Its  Captain,  a  deacon,  mild-mannered  and  pure. 

Esteemed   by  his  neighbors,  beloved  by  the   poor  ; — 

Two  stalwart  Lieutenants,  brought  up  on  their  farms, 

Untutored    in  "  tactics  ",  and  "  war's  stern  alarms  ;" — 

But  who    "guessed    if     square    fightin'    should   come    in    their 

way, 
They  could  git  along  somehow  with  Company  K !" 

For    "the  boys"    were  their    neighbors,  their    school-mates   of 

yore. 
From  the  plow  and  the  anvil,  the  shop  and  the   store  ; 
Broad  of  breast— stout  of  limb, — full  of  spirits  and    fun, 
Skilled  with  axe,  saw  and   spade— knew  the  use   of  a  gun  ; 
Thought  that  "mebby  them   fellers  the  South   had  sent  out. 


A   SHEAF  OF   QEAIN.  195 

Who  bragged  of  the  'Yanks  they  could  chaw  in  a  fout", 
And  what  crack  shots   they    were,    might    just    happen    some 

day, 
To  see  pretty  fair   shootin'  by  Company  K  !" 

Ah,  God  only  knows  of  the   hearts  well-nigh  broken. 
When  the  home  ties  were  snapt  and  the  last  farewells  spoken  ; 
When  the  shrill  fife  but  half  drowned  the   sobbing  that  day, 
As  the  drum-beat  marked  time  to  the  marching    away  ! 
And  the  buys  noticed  then  what  they  saw  not  again 
Mid  the  shrieking  of  shells,  or  the  bullets'  fierce  rain, 
(Though  he  led  every  charge,  and  braved  death  in  each  fray) 
A  pale  cheek  on  the  Captain  of  Company  K  ! 

Frank  reader,  confess,  you'd  be  bored,  should  I  tell 
All  the  haps  and  mishaps  to  their  fortune  that  fell  ! 
Tis  told  though,  how  once  in  a  world-famous  fight. 
Where  the  rebel  works  crowned  every  hillock  and   height, 
When  the   order  was  given  to  charge,  in  the    face 
Of  the  death  shower  poured  through  the  brush-tangled  space, 
Their  Captain  made  pause  just  one   moment,  to  pray, — 
But  the  first  o'er  the  breastworks  was   Company  K  ! 

There  came,  too,  a  crisis — you've    read  it,  no   doubt. 
Where  the  rebels  had  fianked  us,  and  put  us  to  rout  : 
When  one  veteran  chief,  like  a  rock  in  the   main 
Braved  the  fierce  tide  of  battle  that  raged  round    the  plain, 
Checked    the    rout, — saved    au    army ;    and    placed    one    name 

more 
On  the  bright  roll  of  heroes   evolved   by  the   war ! 
Mid  the  proud  Spartan  band  who  stood  firm  on  that  day. 
With  their  dead  piled  around  them  stood  Company  K! 

When  "  duty "  was   done,  and  a  battle  had  sped. 

How  the  good  deacon-captain  would  mourn  o'er  his  dead  ! 

How  he'd  tenderly  watch  with  his  wounded,  and  stay, 


19G  A   SHEAF  or  OJUJN. 

In  the  hospital  wards  through  the  hot  summer  day ; 
And  when,  in  reward  for  his  courage  and  skill, 
Promotions  and  honors  awaited  his  will, 

He  sent  "thanks  to  the  Gin'ral,  but  thought  he'd  best  stay 
With  his    boys,  and  be   Capting  of  Company   K !" 

And  "  the  boys  !"— bless  your  soul,  they  just  worshipped  their 

"  Pap !" 
When  the  "old  man"  said  "come,  boys!"  'twas  "Here's  with 

you,  Cap  !" 
No  lagging,  no  shirking,  no  "playing  it  fine," 
When  their  ears  caught  his  quiet  "  Boys,   fall  into   line  I" 
Ah,  needless  to  tell  to   my  comrades  in  blue 
Who  served  their  tried  country's  long  life-struggle  through, 
How  deep  was  their  grief,  when   a  shell  tore  away 
From  their  ranks  the   loved  Captain  of    Company  K  ! 

How  gentle  those  powder-grimed  hands,  as   they  bore 

Their  Captain,  all  mangled  and  covered  with  gore, 

To  the  rear  !  how  they  questioned  the   surgeon  to  know, 

If  hope  was  yet  fled, — if  the   Captain  must  go ! 

How  breathless  they  watched,  as  in  tears  they  stood  by, 

To  catch  his  last  words  :    "  For  my  country   I  die  ! 

God  help  my  poor  wife  !    Boys,  I'm  sinking   away,-  - 

Good  bye, — and  my  blessing  on    Company  K  !" 

LiOng  years  have  rolled  by  since  that  sorrowful  scene, — 

The  graves  of  our  martyrs  lie  hid  'neath  the  green ! 

The  country  they  died  for,  we  lived  on  to  see, 

Triumphant  o'er  Treason,^united,  and  free  ! 

Liet  us  hope  that  the  brave  who  to  battle  went  forth 

Are  enshrined  in  the  warm,  grateful  hearts  of  the  North, — 

And  that  Memory  holds,  'mong  her  treasures  to-day. 

Proud  legends  of  many  a  Company  K ! 

J.  W.  T. 
Victoria,  IlL 


A  ^HEAF  OF  GRAIN.  \9'i 


From  the  National  Tribune. 
ANDERSONVILIvE. 


Yes,   Billy,  I  was  thar !    D'ye  see  that    foot  ? 

Queer   customer,  you  say! -well,  "taint  no  beauty.' 
The   cobbler   chap  what  measured   for  the    boot 

Laughed,   and  then  cried  !    The  toes  are  all  off  duty, — 
Deserted,   the   hull   squad  !    Come  nigh   persuadin' 

The   foot  to  f oiler  suit!    (Lucky,  enough  on't  stayed 
To  tote  around   on  I )— 'twas  when   the   pervadin' 

Disease— starvation— tackled  the   Stockade! 

Ye  see,  old  Wirz,  what   run  our  big  hotel, 

Hed  some  original  idees  onto   diet  ! 
He   b'leeved,  if  fed  on   quarter  rations  well 

Us  Yanks  would  grow   so  gentle-like   and  quiet 
We'd   not  have  spunk  to  cuss  the  rebel  cooks 

What  burned   our  mush,   or  served  it  sour,  or  raw, 
And   them   marked  "dead"  on  our  sharp  landlord's  books. 

Was  "the   peaceablcst   lot  of  Yanks   he  ever  saw  ! " 

He  claimed   he  kept  too  many  boarders  thar* 

(Which,  that  war  true ! )   for  what   we'd  got  to  eat; 
And  so,  it  was  our  pious  landlord's  care 

To  cut  our  numbers  down  to  match  our    meat ! 
Then,  when  the  death-rate  grew,  and   ranks  got  thin. 

For  fear  high  livin'd  make   his  patients  worse, 
The   sharp  old  rogue  would  cut  it  down  agin, 

And  put  the  savings  in  his  little   purse  ! 


198  A  SaEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

He  didn't  fancy  vegetable    diet; — 

Fresh  meat,  he  said,  bat  bred  cantankerous  feelin's, 
And  so,  the  scurvy  tackled  us,  and  by  it 

Them  toes  turned  black — dried  up  like  'tater  peelin's, 
And  dropt  off,  one  by  one  !    I   didn't  mind   'em, 

But  left  'em   kickin   'round,  in  wind  and   weather, — 
But  then,  I  reckon,  Gabriel  can  find   'em 

When  his  last  trump  musters  our  bones  together  ! 

And  then,  we  warn't  a  sentimental  crew, 

Broilin'  by  day,  and  shiverin'  by  night ! 
With  trees  by  thousands  standing  round  in    view, 

They  couldn't  spare  us  v/ood  to  cook  our  bite, 
Nor  boards  for  shelter.    We  would  die  too  slow. 

If  fed  and  housed!    And  Wirz   he'd  bragged,  that  he 
"  Killed  more  d — d  Yanks   off  in  a  year,  you   know 

And  cheaper,  too,  than  Beauregard  or  Lee  !  " 

His  guards,  too, — why,  they  jist  had  lots  of  fun ! 

When  a  poor  lad,  half -crazed,  or  wald  with  pain, 
Crossed  the  "dead  line",  pop  went  a  rebel    gun. 

And  "thar's  one  Yank  what  will  not  fight   again  ! " 
'Twas  famous  sport !    In  fact,  twas  jist  the  place 

Where   Southern  wimmin  liked  to  send  their   sons, — 
Much  safer  than  "the  front,"  where  they  must  face, 

Sharp  peeked  bayonets  and   Yankee  guns  I 

"  Did   Davis  know   how  Wirz   was  starving  us  ? " 

You  bet  he   did !    His  surgeons  begged  in  vain. 
To  have  him  bounced;    but  Jeff,  hard-hearted  cuss  1 , 

Kept   him  on  pu)pose  !    May  the  brand  of  Cain — 
Pshaw,   Bill,  I'm  gettin'  riled  !    Pooh,  let  it    drop  ! 

What's  an  old  wreck  like  me  to  do  with    spite! 
Have  a  cigar  ?    Say,   Billy,  won't  yer  stop 

And  jine  our  Post  ?    Come   round  at  six   to-night ! 

J.  W.  T. 

Victoria,  Illinois. 


A  SIIKAF   OF  GRAIN.  199 


AF^TER  BYRON  (ONLY  WAY  BEHIND!) 


The  Distillers   came   down  like  the  wolf  on  the   fold, 
And  their  pockets  were  bulging  with  shekels  of  gold, — 
And  the  sheen   of  their  silver  was  gorgeous  to  see, 
As  they  shelled  out  their  ducats  in  fair  Peoree  ! 

Xiike  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when   summer  is  green, 
So  soft  and  so  verdant  their  voters  are   seen; 
X(ike  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  Winter   doth  frown, 
That  host  of  sad  voters  were  "done  very  brown"! 

For  the   Angel  of  Truth  spread  her  wings  on  the  blast 
And  dispelled  all  the  smoke  the  distilleries  cast,^ 
And  the  bright  moon  shone  down  on  their  sour-mash  and  swill, 
As  she  solemnly  winked  at   the  Worm  of  the   Still ! 

And   sad,  through  Peoria  the  Whisky   Kings  stride, 
But  they  whoop  no  more  pasans  of  triumph  and  pride, 
And  the  bets  they  have  wagered,  the  bills  they  must   pay, 
lioom  up  o'er  their  souls  like  the  dread  Judgment-Day! 

And  :there  lies  brave  Nick,  all  distorted  and  pale,— 
He  ran   'gainst   a  Post,   and   is   dead   as   a  nail  ! 
His  smooth  tongue  is  silent,  his  heart  turned  to  stone, 
His  party  is  busted,  his  allies  all  flown ! 

And  the  Victoria  Greenbackers  loudly  do  wail. 

And  the  Democrats  swear  till  their    hearers  grow   pale; 

And  their  "Holy  Alliance"  of  two  years  ago, 

Hath  melted  away   like  a  late   April  snow  I 

Granger. 

Victoria,  Hi.,  Nov.   1,    1886. 


200  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 


A.  NODE  TEW  OUR  NU  COURT  HOUSE. 


Hale,  mity   pile  of  stone,   'n'  brick,  'n'  mortar. 
Iron,   'n'  wood,   and  things   I   disremember 
Their  names,  but  which  you'll  find  them  in   the  bill, 
You    bet! 

"Grate  arkytecktooral  achievement"  them's  the  word 
I've  heerd   'em   call  thee— which,    I  calkerlate's 
Half  truth,   half  taffy— but  we'll  let  that  pass  ! 
We'll  say,  though,  you're  a  pretty  hunky   Court  House, 
And  ef  folks  doubts  it,  jist  get  Mister  Perry 
What's  got  a  tony  orfls   rigged  up   in  you. 
To  show  'em  round  1    He'll  pint  out  all  yer  beauties! 
Yer  desks,  drawers,  pidging-holes,— tubes,  where    the  Clerks 
Sot  at  their  desks,  kin  holler  at  the    Sheriffs, 
Or  chat  with  pooty  witnesses  in  waiting ! 

He'll   show    you    the    big    Court-room,  where  the  lawyers- 
Will  plead  next  year.    (I  b'leeve  they  calls  it  pleadin',— 
Tho'  ign'runt  chaps  like  me  might  name  it  'rangling, 
And  splittin'   hairs,  and   argying  out  the   diff'runce 
'Twixt  tweedle-dum  and  -dee;    while  we  tax-payers 
Kept  waitin'   day  by  day,  git  mad  as  thunder. 
And  wish  they'd  stop  their  everlastin'  jawing 
And  let  the  show  perceed  ! )    And   he  will  show  you 
Where  the  Jedge   sits,  like   pashunce  on  a  monument, 
And  stands  it  a  durned  sight  better'n  I  could, 
While  they  befogs  his   'onner  and  the  jury 
With  laws,  and  pressydents,  and  ancient  statoots. 


A  SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  201 

What's  bin  repealed  for  years,- and  long  "instructions", 
So   mixed  up  in  their  meaning,  that  the  joory 
Jist  chucks  'em  in  the   coal-hod,   and   falls   back 
Ou  good   hoss-sense  in  making    up   their   verdix  ! 

But,  'taint  no  fault  of  thine,   majestic  buildin' ! 
You're   A  1,   and   a  daisy,   that  I'll  swar'   to ! 
And  tho'  ye  cost  a  pesky   site  of   muuny, 
And  tho'  you're    bigger  bi   a   half  than   need    be, 
There   warn't  no   boodle  grabs   mixed  in  thy   making, 
Far  which   we're  thankful ! 

Mebby  some  day,  say  in  the  year  2,000, 
What  with   new   railroads,  and   by  nat'ral   increase, 
(Per  pious   grangers,   mindful  of  their   bibles, 
"Increase   and  multiply"   to  beat  all  natur" — ) 
We'll  fill  thy   surplus  rooms,  and  thank  tho  builders. 

So,  gorjus   pile, 
I  doff  my   cap   to   thee  !     But   my   poor  heart 
Is  all  tore   up  to  think  wot   trials  wait    thee, 
When  in   the  years  to  CDme   thy   holler   wills 
Shall  ecko  back  the  shouts  that   blatant   lawyers 
Deafen  poor,   sufferin'  juries   with— the   lies 
Of  parjured  witnesses;    the  empty  froth 
And  gvish  of  fancied  eloquence,  slopt   over 
By  new-fledged   barristers;    the   "cases"  brought 
With  nothin'  in   'em  but  their  lawyers'   fees; 
Pule  slander  suits,   where  Jones   has  said  that   Brown 
Stole  his  fat  Christmas  turkey;    virtuous    Brown 
Brings  suit,  and  fetches  half  the  country  down 
To  prove  he  draws  the  line  at  chickens  !    damage   suits, 
Per  lasserated  hearts  of  gushing    maids, 
Of  fifty  summers;    actions   for   divorce, 
Where  each   proves  either  lewd  as  English  lords, 
And  high  court  ladies;    law-suits  two  weeks  long, 
To  git   a  judgment   fur  a  yaller    dorg 
Shot  fer  sheep-killing;    suits  'gainst  aldermen 


202  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Fer  boodle   contracts,  when  the  city  boasts 

'Bout  half  a  million  people;    whisky  suits 

Where  red-nosed  bummers  can't  for  life   remember 

Jist  where  they  got  their  tods,  nor  what  they  guzzled ! 

Chancery  suits,  long    as  the  moral  law,  and  bound  to  last 

At  least  a  lifetime   sure !    Alas,  poor   walls. 

If  I  was  flush  of  tears,  I'd  weep   for  ye  ! 

Court-House,  adoo !    If  grateful  to    the  poet 
Who's  strained  hisself  to  sing  this   strain  to  you, 
Grant  that  no   capias,  summons,  or    suppeny 
Wrote  in  thy  innards  fetch   him  to  thy  chambers, 
Or  thy  first  cousin,  the  Jail !  We  dote  upon   thee. 
Grate  pile  !  We're  proud  to  see  thy  fair  proportions 
Loom  o'er  the  plain  !    Just  go  on  with  thy  looming, 
Till  time,  or  some  ill-natured  earthquake  downs  thee  ! 
But  our  respect  for  thee  grows  with   our  distance, — 
(Some  twenty  miles.)  Thou'rt  like  some  Kings  we  wot   of, 
Best  worshipped  from  afar  !    Thou   hast  a  way. 
Lake  them,  of  yanking  us  poor  innocent  grangers 
From  weepin'  widders  left  to  split  up  fire-wood, 
Milk  kicking  cows,  feed  pigs,  and  mourn  our  absence  ! 
Spare  us,  grate  ortocrat,  and  take  the  thanks  of 
Your  grateful 

RUSTYCUSS. 

Victoria,  111.,  Dec.   28,   1886. 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  203 


GAIvESBTJRG. 


A  beauteous  City  rears  her  spires 

To  catch  the  moi^n's  first  glow, 
To  glance  the  sun's   reflected  fires 

In  dazzling  rays    below  ; 
And  bounteous  Heaven  hath   richly  blessed 

This  City  of  the  Plain, 
Where  Wealth  in  honored  ease   doth   rest 

And  Commerce  toils  for  gain, 

And  Learning  here  hath  ample  halls, 

And  teachers  known  to    fame. 
And  Justice,  in  his  new-made   walls 

Doth  vindicate  his  name. 
And  blest  Religion  o'er  the  town 

Her  sacred  wand  doth  hold, 
And  calls  Heaven's  choicest  blessings    down 

To  bless  each   shepherd's  fold  I 

For  pious  pilgrims  from   afar 

To  found  this  City   came. 
And  left  it  their  example  fair, 

And  one   his  honored    name ! 
And  in  their    ancient  deeds  of  land, 

Their  ordinances  old, 
No  alcoholic  drinks,  they  planned 

Should  in   its  bounds  be   sold  ! 


204  A   SHEAF  OF   OHAIN. 

They  sought  to  shield  their  growing  town 

From   Rum's  accursed   sway. 
Alas,  that   sires  of  such   renown 

Should  be   forgot  to-day  ! 
That  sordid  lust  of  gain   should  thwart 

The   prayers  these   pilgrims    prayed, 
And  make   each   noble   street  a  mart 

To   ply  the  Devil's  trade  ! 

Oh,  that  the  grave  could  yield  its  dead  ! 

That  for  one  single  year 
That  reverend  band  these  streets  might  tread. 

These   sons  their   warnings   hear  ! 
Then,   as  before   the   Savior's   wrath 

The  Temple's  changers   fiew, 
So  from  each  sin-polkited    path 

Would  flee  the  whisky  crew  ! 

From   council  halls,   from   power  and  place 

Rum's  votaries  would   be  driven, 
A  ransomed   City  lift  her  face 

To  meet  the  smiles  of  Heaven ! 
Hell's  thresholds,  gaping  for  the  young 

Would  tempt   our  sons  no  more. 
And  praise  would  rise  from  every  tongue 

That  Whisky's   reign   was  o'er  ! 

Granger. 
Victoria,  111.,  March,   1887. 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  205 


SO  NEAR  AND  YKT  SO  KAR! 


Strain  thy  dull  eyes,  wise  inau  !  then  seize    thy    glass. — 
Skim  the  broad  sea,  where  ue'er  a  sail  is  spread; 
Scan   the  dull,  leaden  sky,  where  overhead 

No  star-born  rays  can  pass,— 

Or,  on  the  desert  take  thy  lonely  stand 
Where  bird  nor  beast  doth  come,^nor   sight   nor  sound 
Save  the   wreathed   sand-cloud  sweeping  o'er  the   ground, 

A  dull  dead   world    of   sand  ! 

Or,  to  the  mountain's  snow-capped  summit  climb, 
Where  the  strong  eagle  soars,  on  wearied  wings,^ 
Where  Frost  and  Cold,  foes  to  all  living  things, 

Reign,  since  the  birth  of  Time  ! 

Dost  know — above  that  sea,  beneath  that  sky, 
On  that  dead,  sandy  plain,  that  mountain's  brow, 
Where   sullen  solitude  api)als  thee  now. 

And  Death  alone  seems  nigh, — 

There,  troops  of   spirits,  at  this  very  hour 
In   their  bright  robes,  unseen  may  round  thee  move, 
Doing   God's   holy  will, — warmed  by  His  love. 

And  guided  by  His  power ! 

And,  when  thy  clay-clogged   ears  can  catch  no  sound, 
Thine  eyes  no  living  thing  in  earth,  sea,  air, 


206  A   SHEAF  OF  OU.UX. 

Angelic  harps  may  thrill  with  mubic  rare 
Bright  listening  hosts  around  ? 

That,  toiling  lonely  on  thy  rugged  way, 
With  none,  thStt-  think'st,  to  know  or  feel   thy  pain, 
Spirits  unseen,  a  loving,  anxious  train 

Watch  thy  weak  steps  to-day  ? 

When  this  world's  fickle  friends  have   left  thy  side. 
As  fame  grew  dim,  or  treacherous  fortune  fled, 
When  earthly  pleasures  pall, — when    Hope  lies  dead, 

And  Faith  has  nearly  died, — 

Coulds't  thou  but  pierce  the  walls  of  the  Unknown,- 
Lift  the  dark  curtains    of  that  brighter  sphere. 
See  the  sad,  loving  eyes  that  watch  thee   here. 

All  friendless  and  alone,— 

Would  thy  dead  heart  not  throb  with  life  again, 
Thy   drooping  spirit   plume  again   her  wings. 
And  Hope,  cheered  by  a  glimpse  of  brighter  things, 

In  thy  glad  bosom  reign  ? 

Granger. 
Victoria,  HI.,   Dec.   27,   1887. 


KING  ALCOHOL. 


Yes,  I  am  King !    no    conqueror  on  earth 
Can  boast  like  conquests  !    Sultan,  emperor,  czar, 

Man's  licensed  tyrants,  despots   from  tiieir  birth. 
Do  but  subdue   the  body.    Rapine,  war. 


A   SHEAF   OF  GRAIN.  207 

Fell  persecution,   fail  man's  soul  to  mar ! 
Foul  slavery's  lash,^the  dungeon's  festering  chain, 

The   blazing  fagot— India's  murderous  car 
Leave  the  Mind  scathless.    Cruelty  and  pain 
Rage  round  the  castled  Soul,  and  seek  access  in  vain  I 

But  /  can  bend  man's  boasted  will  !    I  steep 
His  senses  in  charmed  draughts, — then,  safe  and  free 

I  pass  those  drowsy  sentinels,  and   leap 
On  my  sure   prey  !    Conscience,  who  keeps  the  key, 
Of  Honor's  casket,  sleeps.    With  drunken  glee 

Reason  his   brow  in  Folly's  cap  doth  hide 
Shakes  his  fool-bells  and  leaps  in  revelry  ! 

While,  with  the  burglar  Passions  at  my  side, 

I  steal  his  treasured  Hopes — strev/  his  earned  Honors  wide  I 

Felon  and  king  !    Not  like  a  sovereign  proud 

I  tread  in  regal  state  my  kingdom's  bound  ! 
I  joy  to  mingle   with  the  ignoble   crowd 

Where  crime  and   misery   in  rags  are  found ! 

My  courtiers  most  in  darkling  slums  abound; 
The  base-born  are  my  peers;    my  sports  I  take 

In  the  vile  haunts  where  brutal  oaths  resound, 
Where  Murder's  shrieks  on  night's  blest  silence  break. 
And  weary  toil's  sweet  sleep  to  blood-dyed  horrors  wake  ! 

My  armies !    see  them  muster  at  my  call ! 

They  ask  no  pay;— no  honors,  rank  or  state 
E'er  to  my  ruffian  soldiers'  portion  fall, — 

No  swift  promotions  on  my  service  wait  ! 

My  victories  mean  tlLeir  ruin  !     Even  the  great 
I  level  to  the  ranks.    No  victor's  bays, — 

No  captured  flags  their  zeal  can  animate; — 
No  martial  bard  frames  stanzas  to  their  praise  ;— 
No  grateful  states  to  them  memorial  columns  raise  ! 


208  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

Where   my    recruiting   stations  ?     Look  around 

Near  Christian  homes,-where  schools  and  churches  stand, 

The  arch-fiend's  sergeants  at  their  posts  are  found, 
In  gilded  halls,  with  aspects  sleek  and    bland. 
Dealing  out  poisons  with  each  jeweled  hand 

To   pious  mothers'   sons !     Each   sparkling  bowl 

Holds  seeds  of  death,   to   sprout  in   fruitful  land, — 

O'er  the  rich  virgin  soil  to  gain  control 

And  choke  with  noxious  weeds  the  garden  of  the  soul  ! 

Who  are  my  slaves  ?    Come,  let  us  take  our  stand 

In  city  wards,    where  freemeii's  votes  are  polled  ! 
That   bloated  wreck  who  lifts  his  palsied  hand 

Armed  with  a  ballot  he  can  scarcely  hold  ! 

That  whisky  king,   who  sells  his  soul  for  gold: 
That   oflace   hunter,  who   to   win   his   place 

Would  flout  God's  saints,  and  join  the  Devil's  fold ! 
Those  well-dressed  youths  who  count  it  no  disgrace 
To  reel,  strike  hands  and  drink  with  Sin's  polluted  race ! 

Yet  other  slaves  I   claim, — weak,  timid  souls. 

Who   shrink  from  strife— who  love  a  life  of  ease, 
Who  shun  the  vulgar  warfare   of  the   polls, 

And  let  brute  mobs  rough-ride  them  as  they  please. 
Even  fiends  themselves  despise   such  slaves  as  these 
But  use  them   still  as  foils.    Such   spirits  poor 

Hold  back  Reform's  drawn  sword,  till  by  degrees 
On  ground-sills  deep  as  Hell,   pinned  strong  and  sure 
My  palace   walls  are  laid,--my  throne  is  set  secure! 

Wilt  serve  me,  youth  ?    Wilt  bow  to  me,  old  age  ? 

Hear  the  rewards  I  offer  to  each    slave ! 
Health  lost,— hopes  blighted,— wasted  heritage, 

Dishonor,  early  death,  a  pauper's  grave  ; 

And,  reckless  fool,  hast  thou  a  soul  to  save  ? 
Forego  that  hope  I    Who  yields  himself  to  me 


A   SUEAF  OF   GRAIN.  209 

Let  him  be  armed   his  Maker's  wrath    to  brave  ; 

For  Heavea   hath   thuaderei   forth   the  dread   decree, 

Which  bars  the  Dniukard's  soul  from  His  blest  Company  ! 

Granger. 
Victoria,  lU.,  April,   1887. 


Lines  read  at  the  Camp  Fire,  Knoxville,  III.,  Trafton  Post. 
TO  THE  O.  A.  R. 


Peace  for  loag  years   her  sceptre   bore, 

And  ruled  our   happy  land, 
And  Hope's  bright  arch    from  shore  to  shore 

Our  Western  empire  spanned: 
For  Freedom,  banished   from  the   East 
By  spears  of  King,  and  creeds  of  Priest, 
Had  built,  by  toil  and  suffering   long, 
A  wall  of  states,  in  union  strong, 

Forevermore  to   stand  ! 

This  Union  arch  long  time   had    stood 

To  pay  its  builders'  cares. 
Cemented  well  with  martyrs'  blood. 

And  blest   by  patriots'   prayers  ! 
Beneath  its  sheltering  strength    and  shade 
Their  children's  happy  homes   were  made. 
Which  grasping  Power  might   not    despoil,— 
Where  Plenty  paid  the  cares  of   Toil, 

And  Manhood's  rights  were  theirs  ! 


210  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN 

But  even  'neath  Heaven's  unclouded  sky- 
Rebellion  once   arose 
God's  righteous  mandates  to  defy, 

His  matchless  power  oppose  ; 
So  in  this  land  on  Earth  most  blest 
Did  foul  Rebellion  rear  his  crest ; 
Her  sons,  from  their  allegiance  turned, 
Their  oaths  foresworn,  their   duty  spurned, 
Rose  up  her   deadliest  foes  ! 

For  Slavery,   child  of  darkest  Night, 

Mother  of  ills  untold. 
Raised  her  vile  brood  to  scorn  the   Right, 

And  pawn  their  souls  for  gold ! 
To  set  at  naught   Christ's  gospel  plan 
Which  bids  man  love  Ms  fellow-man  ; 
For  with  sharp  scourge  and  clanking  chain, 
They  marred  God's  images  for  gain. 

And  men  their   brothers   sold  ! 

'Twas  in  these  slavery-cursed  domains, 

Rebellion   sprang  to  birth  ; 
Where  murder,  tyranny  and   chains 

Crushed   manhood  to  the    earth. 
Little  they  cared,  these  Ka-Klux   Knights 
For  Manhood's  claims  or  Labor's  rights, 
As  on  their  midnight  raids  they   sped 
To  drag  the  toiler  from  his  bed. 

The  cotter  from   his  hearth  ! 

Thank  God,  that  in  the  mighty   North 
A  stalwart  race  were  growing, 

Who  measured  manhood  by  its  worth 
Through  worthy   actions  showing  ! 

Who  honored    Labor,  Truth,  and  Right, 

Whether  'twere  black,  or  red,   or  white. 


'»• 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN,  211 


Nor  blamed  the  color  of   a  skin 

So  that  it  held  a  Man   within, — 

No  meaner  standard   knowing  ! 

And  when  the  South  with  impious   hand 

Lit  the  red  torch  of  War, 
And  swung  aloft  the  blazing   brand 

In  menace  from  afar, 
From  hill  and  prairie    in  the   North 
Rushed  Freedom's  sous   indignant   forth, 
Dashed   down  the  threatening  brand  in  ire, 
And  quenched  in  blood  that  baleful  fire, 

That  fierce   malignant  star  ! 

Would'st  know  what  deeds  their  courage   wrought, 

What  fields  their  valor  won, — 
What  victories  it  so  dearly  bought 

In  field  and  garrison  ? 
Go  read  on  History's   brightest  page, — 
Go  ask  of  scholar  and  of  sage, 
If  ever  yet,  since  Time  began 
Man  warred  for  nobler  cause  with  man, 

Or  nobler  deeds  hath  done ! 

When  flashed  a  warrior's  steel  in  air 

Drawn  in  more  righteous  cause  ? 
A  Nation's  life  they  fought  for  there, 

Her  liberties   and  laws  ! 
Could  Poet  choose  a  loftier  theme  ? 
Could  Romance  weave  a  brighter  dream  ?" 
Could  History,  with  her  iron  pen 
Grave  deeper  lines  on  hearts   of  men 

To    win  a  world's  applause  ? 

.  Ah,  not  for  conquest,  not  for  gain 
These  heroes  drew  the   sword, — 


212  A   SIIEAF  OF  OHAIN. 

Not  iu   Ambitiou's  bloody    train 
To  serve  some  warlike  lord ; — 
Not  theirs  the  thirst  for  martial  fame, — 
The  hero's   bays,  the  conqueror's  name, — 
To  triumph  o'er  a  foreign  foe, — 
To  lay  a  hated  rival  low, 
Or  infidel    abhorred  ! 

Not  theirs  a  Caesar's   guiding  star 

To  conquest  and   renown, — 
An  Alexander's  ruthless  war 

To  pull  weak  nations  down ; 
Not  theirs  the  war  the   Rebel  waged, 
In  Slavery's  cursed  cause  engaged. 
Who,    if  the  victory  he    gains 
Sends  a  doomed  race  to  stripes  and  chains, 

The  victor  to  a  crown  ! 

These   veterans  who  around  me  stand 

Wrinkled,  and  bronzed,  and  gray, 
Were   scattered  wide   o'er  Dixie's  land, 

And  wore  the   Blue   that  day  ! 
Full  younger  men  they  were,  I   trow, 
Who  left  the  workshop  and  the  plow, 
The  miner's  shaft,  the  boatman's   oar, 
The  Spreacher's  desk,  the  merchant's  store, 
A   soldier's  part  to  play  ! 

In  those  firm  ranks  of  loyal  blue 
Who  braved  the   storm   of  war. 
Marched  scholars  ripe,  and   statesmen    true, 

Jurists  from  bench  and  bar,— 
Men  reared  iu  luxury  and  wealth 
Lieft  honored  ease — risked  life  and  health, 
The  ground  their  bed,  their  tent  the  sky, 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  213 

The   wintry  wind  their  lullaby, 
Their  lamp  the  evening    star  ! 

Men  soft  of  heart,  where  suffering   calls, 

Born  where   sweet  Peace   held  sway, 
Faced    the  grim   battery's  raking   balls, 

When  Duty  led  the    way  ! 
Men  nurtured  in  the   dread  of  death, 
Dared  the  fell   Fever's  fatal  breath, — 
Faced  the   keen   bayonets'   points,  nor  broke 
Their  ranks  when  shell  and  sabre   stroke 

Let  in  the  light  of   day  ! 

In  prison-pens,  when  hope   was    past 

And  Death   was  full   in  view. 
They  held  their  courage  to  the  last 

And  their  allegiance  too ! 
Nor  offered  bread,   nor  bribe   of  gold. 
Could  win  them  to  the   rebel  fold  ! 
True  to  their  flag,  their  laud,  their  laws. 
They  cursed  the  traitor  and  his  cause, 

And,   starving,  still  were  true  ! 

For  those  who  fell  in  Freedom's  cause 

Let  grateful  tears  be   shed. 
While  Memory,  and  a  world's    applause 

Embalm   our  honored   dead  ! 
To  those  who  live,  our  comrades  tried, 
Who  stood  in  battle  side  by  side. 
Be  the  warm  grasp  of  Friendship   given. 
Till  mustered  in  the   ranks  of    Heaven, 

When   Earth's   rude   wars  are    sped ! 

For  this  our  loyal  Posts  we   rear, 

Our  ruddy  Camp-fires  blaze, — 
Where  veterans  meet  from  far  and  near 

To  chat  of  bygone   days. 


214  A   SHEAF   OF  GRAIN. 

Where   Memory  her  choice  offerings   brings, 
And  on  the  fires  fresh  fagots  flings ; — 
Yule  logs,  and  cypress  boughs  we    see, — 
Even   branches   from  the  chestnut  tree, 
A  roaring  bonfire   raise ! 

And  as,  o'er  hillside,  wood  and  glen 

Our  camp-fires   blazed  of  yore 
Where  Freedom's   hosts  of  armed  men 

Upheld  her  righteous  war, — 
So   may  each  patriot  sire  and  son 
Guard  the  rich  prize  their  valor  won  ! 
So  let  our  peaceful  camp-fires  shine 
And  Liberty  and  Justice  join. 

To  bless  the  G.  A.  R. ! 

J.  W.  T. 
January  31st,  1890. 


]VIY   CREED. 

I   hold,  there   is  a  Pov/er  above 

Who  made  the  World  and  all  things  in   it, 
Without  whose  constant  care  and  love, 

His  creatures  could  not  live  a  minute ! 
I  hold,  despite  the  skeptic's  sneer, — 

Despite  the  tricks  old  creeds  have   played  us. 
Not  for  God's  glory  are  we   here. 

But   'twas  for  Man's  own  good  He  made  us  ! 


A  SUEAF  OF   OBAIN.  215 

The  Being,  infinite  in  love, 

All-wise,   unfettered   in  His  powers, 
Our  Father,  from   His  throne  above, 

Rules  for  our  good  this  v/orld  of  ours  1 
Nor  for  a  favored  few  alone 

He  cares:    He  loves  us   one  and  all, 
Reigns  with  the  monarch  on   his   throne, 

Yet  stoops  to  note   a  sparrow's   fall  ! 

Let  shallow  idiots  prate  of  Chance 

As  parent  of  the   eternal    Order, 
That  rules  the  planets'  airy  dance. 

And  to  Creation's  utmost  border 
Guides  the  swift  Comet  through  the  maze 

Of  myriad  circling  orbs,— menacing 
Yet  sparing  peopled  worlds,   that  gaze 

In  terror  on  his  reckless  racing  ! 

Science  may  give  to  power  new  names, 

Prate  of   Fixed  Laws,  self-legislated. 
By  which  blind  Matter  deftly  frames 

Worlds  of  material  self -created  ! 
It  matters  not  what  name   we  give, — 

Jove,  Force,  Law,  Nature,   Fate,  Nemesis^ — 
The  Power  that  bade   Creation  live, 

His  lo\"ing  kindness  never  ceases ! 

Could  earthly  father  rest  content. 

Whose  children  wander,  tempest-tossed, 
To  knov/,  when  waves  their  force  have  spent, 

Some   of  his  loved  ones  must   be  lost  ? 
Deem  ye,  a  selfish,  earthly  sire 

Can  match  the  All-Father's  loving  care  ? 
Dost  think  God's  all-consuming  ire 

More   cruel  than  Man's  passions  are? 


216  i   SHEAF   OF  GRAIN. 

I  trust  that,   in  the  after-life, — 

In  the   dark  Future's  unmapped  regions. 
Freed   from   the   coils   of  sin   and  strife, 

Will  meet  in  joy  Earth's  new-born  legions-; 
That  those  who  here  have   labored  best, 

With   noble   aims  and   high    endeavor, 
Will  take  front  ranks  among  the   blest. 

Where  Progress  leads  his   hosts    forever ! 

That  Pain,  Sin's  follower,  will  vanish 

When  Sin  herself  has  ceased  to  live. 
And  Heaven's  pure  atmosphere   soon  banish 

Plagues  which  Earth's  tainted  breezes  give  f 
That  not  to   punishment  unending 

Will   God   call  any  from   his  sleep, 
Nor,  to  Despair's  dark  pit  descending 

One   soul  through  endless  ages  weep ! 

Yet   hope   not  thou,  whose  wayward   spirit 

Shuns  grace,   and  treads  the   downward  pathy 
Thy  reckless  soul  shall   soon  inherit 

The   bliss   a  purer    spirit   hath ! 
Like  him,  who,  while  his  comrades  store 

Rich  pearls,  his  own  flings  in  the   sea, 
Thy  beggared  soul  shall  long  deplore 

The  offered  wealth   once  scorned   by  thee  ! 

And  grieve   not,  thou  who  tread'st  in   sorrow 
The   rugged,   darkling  paths   below ! 

Thy  path  in  the  unknown   To-Morrow 

May  lead  where   Heaven's  rich  sunbeams  glow  f 

Though  not  to  Man  doth   Heaven  reveal 
The   mysteries  of  each  varied  lot, 

Justice  in  God's  own  time  will  deal 

Full,  equal  measure,  doubt  it  not  ! 

J.  W.  T, 
March  12,  1884. 


A   SHEAF  OF  URAIV.  217 


K  PLURIBUS  UNUM- A  ENABLE. 


Sir  Million  went  out  for  a  walk,   'tother   day 
When  a  frisky  young  Unit  pranced   out  in   his   way. 
His  Lordship  tossed  high  his  numerical  head 
And  to  the  "noun-singular"  tauntingly  said: 

"Now,  aren't  you  ashamed,  indivisible    elf, 
To  be  seen  by  the  side  of  my  numerous  self, 
Who  could  swallow  ten  thousand   like  you  if  I  will, 
A  hundred  times  over  before   I've  my  fill  ? 
I   scorn  all   such  atoms,   who   only   count  one 
In  the  army   of  Numbers  who  march  'neath  the  sun  ! 
See,  now,  what  figure  /  cut,  on  the  slate, 
Where   seven   fair   digits  my   service   await  ! 
In  tens,  hundreds,  thousands,  ten  thousands  I  rise, 
Till  my  train  fairly  rivals  the  stars  in  the   skies, — 
While    you,  wretched  Unit !    so  saucy  and  bold. 
Have  room   but  for  one   little   chap  in  your    hold  ! 
And,   rniniis  that  one,   as  the  school-books  agree. 
You'd  be  snuffed  out  completely,  poor  mite,  don't  you  see? 
So,  my  Dot-and-go-One !    take  advice   while  you  may. 
And  when  Millions  strut  round,  just  get  out  of  our  way!" 

But  that  impudent  Unit,  unhumbled,  arose, 
Twirled  finger  and  thumb  at  his  long  Yankee  nose, 
Stuck  his  tongue   in   his  cheek,  gave  a  shrug  and  a  grin. 
Took  a  quid  from  his  mouth,  cleaned  his  throat,  and  "sailed  in": 

"Pray  allow  me  to  ask,  my  much  multiplied  Dad ! 
Ere  your  Units  united,  what  numbers  you   had  ? 


218  A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN. 

If  the  poor,  despised.  Oxes,  which  thus  singly  have  come 
Hadn't  "pooled  all  their  issues"  to  make   up  your  sum, 
What  use  would  you  have  for  those  "digits"  you  brag  of  ? 
All  those  hundreds  and  thousands  there'd  not  be  a  rag  of  \ 
Now,  to  prove   how  dependent  you  proud  Millions  be, 
Just  look  while  I  whistle  my  messmates  to  me  ! 

So,  with  fingers  to  mouth,  and  with  breath  gathered  in, 
He  blew  such  a  blast — so  shrill,   piercing  and  thin, 
Twould  have  paled  the  "Pied   Piper"  with  envy,  and  led 
All  his  rats  to  their  holes,  and  his   bairns  back  to  bed  1 
And  the  Units  in  answer  came   whooping  away  i 

From  Sir  Million's  fat  body,  where   snugly  they  lay  ! 
From   his  chest,  now  collapsed,  and  from  stomach  caved  in, 
From  back,  bowed  and  broken — cheeks  hollowed  and  thin, 
From  shaky  legs,   shrunken  like   Shakspere's  Old  Age, 
Or  like  actors,  whose  saw-dust  spills  out  on  the  stage  ! 
Came  the   scampering  Units,  full  tilt   from  each  door, 
From  all  parts  but  the   skull — that  was  empty  before ! 

'Twas  a "One-Hoss-Shay"  business!  all  parts  went  together, 

As  clouds  break  and  vanish  in  hot   Summer  weather; 

And  Sir  Million,  who  should  have  grown  humbled  and  sad. 

Found  there  wasn't  enough  of  him  left  to  feel  bad  ! 

So  the  lesson  was  lost — ^as  the  Moral  will  be 

If  you  all  "give  it  up,"  and  depend   upon  me ! 

One  of  the  Units. 
January,   1881. 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  219 


MORNINQ  ON  XHE  KARIVI. 


I  wake  from  sleep — the  morning  sun 
Has  got  his  day's  work  well  begun; 
I  turn  in  bed— my  faithful  spouse 
Is  long  since  up  to  milk  the  cov/s; 
The   hired  men  are  at  their  chores 
And  I'm  the   only  one  in-doors  ! 
I  dress  me,  slowly  as  I  may, 
And  toward  the  barn-yard  drag  my  way, 
Whence,  breaking  on   my  ravished  ear 
Come  sounds  my  granger  soul  to    cheer: 
The   rooster  his  shrill  greeting  sends, 

*'  Cudah-cut"  scream  his    female  friends ! 
Ducks  yell  "Quack  !   Quack ! "  with  heads  in  air, 
And  yet  I  see   no  doctor  there  ! 
Pigs  squeal,  calves   blaat,  and  cattle  bawl, 
And  colts  stand  whinnying  in  the  stall; 

"  Baa  !   Baa  !  "  a  hundred   sheep  unite 
To  split  my  ears,   and  craze   me   quite  ! 
The  turkey's  "gobble-gobble"  sounds 
In  concert  with  the   baying  hounds; 
Geese  squawk  and   splutter  o'er  their  corn, 
And  loud-moxithed  cows  since  early    morn 
Call  frantic  for  their  answering  calves. 
And  Nature,  who  does  naught  by  halves, 
Lest  tnere   should  be   a  moment's  peace 


220  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Unmarred  by   din   of  ducks  and  geese, 
By   snort  of  horse,  and   donkeys'    bray, 
By  squeal   of  pigs  in   noisy  fray, 
By   "yeows"   of  cats,  and   bark   of  dogs. 
And  yelp  of  "purps",  and  grunt  of  bogs, 
Gave  as  a  crowning  plague  to  men 
The  cursed,  chattering  Guinea-hen ! 

"Go  back  !  go   back  !    go  back  ! "   they  screech ! 
"  Go  back,  you  Jack  ! "  tis  all  they   preach; 

Nor  all  day  long  their  "sass"  they  slack,— 
"  Go   back,    you  Jack  !    You  Jack-go  back  !  " 
Like  Balaam,  when  his  donkey  spoke, 
At   first  I  take   it  as   a  joke  ! 
But,  frightened  at  their  fierce   attack 
Which   bids  me   still   "Go   back  !    go   back  ! " 
I  turn  me  back  from  work  and  chores, 
Light  my  cob  pipe,  and  loaf    in-doors 
Till  breakfast  calls.     (No  squawk   or  clack, 
Can  bid  me   then  ''Go  back— go  back  ! " ) 

J.  W.  T. 
AprU,  1884. 


SIXTY-TWO. 


I'm   Sixty-two  to-day  ! 
My  youth  is  gone,-  -my  prime  of   life  is  past  ! 
What  joys  hath  life  to  give   us,   which   can  last 

When  we  grow  old  and  gray  ? 


A   SUBAF   OF   GRAIN.  221 

Hope,  the   gay  cheat  of  Youth 
Hath  bidden  us,  her  whilom  dupes,   farewell, 
And  Reason  now  to  our  dulled   ears   doth   tell 

But  the   sad  tales   of  Truth ! 

Long  since,  we've   ceased  to  prize 
Those  idle   dreams  of  fortune,   fairy-brought, 
Those  Spanish  castles,  of  frail  texture  wrought 

Against   our  youthful   skies  ! 

Too  late,   perchance,  we've  found     • 
Those  gaudy  colors,   laid   in   early   years. 
Fade  with  our  youth,  or,  washed  by  bitter  tears 

Leave  but  a  muddy  ground  ! 

What,  then,  hath   Age  to  give  ? 
^What  compensation  for  our  Hopes,  long  dead  ? 
For  our  lost  strength,   health,  youth  and  beauty  fled,  , 

To  bid  us  wish  to  live  ? 

Around,   on   every  side 
Drop  off  the  comrades  of  our  youth,   the   friends 
Proved  in  our  manhood's  prime ;  each  story  ends 

With  the   same  legend,   "Died"! 

Happy  the   ones  who  go  ! 
Thrice  happy,  if  the  legend   ere  it  close 
Tell  of  fair  deeds  to  earn  the  blest   repose 

The  righteous  hope  to   know  ! 

Kind  Death  !  to  mortals  given 
Who  gently  breaks  the  clinging  ties  which    bind 
The  old  to  Earth, — and  bids  them  look  to    find 

Their  loved  and  lost   in  Heaven! 

That,   on  that   other   shore. 
The   wretched  failures  of  this  lower  life, 


222  A   SHEAF   OF  GttAIN. 

The  pangs  of  thwarted  aims,  of  fruitless  strife 
Shall  vex   our  hearts  no    more  ! 

Fresh  songs  by  Hope  be  sung, — 
New  strength    be  given, — our  spirits  fired  again 
With  ardor  such  as  pulsed  through  every  vein 

When  Life   and  we  were  young ! 

That  Right  shall  there  be  Might ; — 
That  Error,  pampered  in  this  lower    world 
And  worshipped  as  a  God,  shall  then  be   hurled 

Back  to  the  realms  of  Night  ! 

And  God  to  Man   shall  prove, 
Despite  the  libels  of  his  creatures  here, — 
The    Churchman's  cruel  creed,  the  Skeptic's  sneer, 
His  Justice  and  His  Love  ! 

J.  W.  T. 
April  13,  1890. 


DAT  STUPID  NIGGAH 


Ha,  Uncle  Pomp  ;  give  me  your  hand, 
My  new-made  brother  in  the  land  ! 
From  this  day  forth  you   now  may  stand 

With  upraised  head  ! 
"  I  doan'  edzackly  onderstand 

Wat  you'un  said  !" 

I  mean,  the  law  has  set  thee  free  ! 
No  master's  lash  shall  swish  o'er  thee ! 


A  SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  223 

The  flag  of  glorious  Liberty, 

Protects  thy   rights  ! 
"Wat  'bout  clem   Ku-Klux  chaps  we  see, 
Dese  moonlight  nights  ?" 

I  mean,  the  Constitution's  power 
Proclaims  thy  manhood  from   this    hour  ! 
Receive  blest   Freedom's  priceless   dower, 

The   right  to  vote  ! 
"  Boss,   dem   secesh   will  cuss  and  glower, 
And  cut  my  froat  !" 

Be   not  afraid  !  thy  country's  might 
Stands  pledged  to  guard  thy  every  right ! 
"  Ya'as— dat  sounds  nice  ;  but  tudder   night 
Some  hossmen  come 
And  hanged  old  Jim  up   by  the  light 
Of's  blazing  home  !" 

"  Yer  see,   ole  Jim   done  hustled  round 
And  tole  de  brack  men  hold  dere  ground; 
And  on  de  'lekshum  day  'twas   found 

Dat  cullud  man 
Done  voted,  de  contrairy  hound 

Fer  a  'Publican  !" 

"  Dey   drug  young  Sambo  out'en  bed, — 
Poured  hot   pitch  on  his  back  and  head. 
Den  whipped  him  t'well  he  well-nigh  dead ! 

"  Wot  had   he   did  ?" 
"Woted  fer  Grant,"  the  Ku-Klux  said, 
The   or'nery   kid  !" 

"Dat  Meth'dis'  preacher,  Israel  Young, 
Wot's  sarved   his  Savior  well  and   long, 
Dey  charge   he    hab    a  'bellious   tongue, 
At   rebs  to  scoff, — 


224  A   SHKAF  or  GRAIN. 

Dey  gib   him  forty,  laid  on    strong, 
And  runned  him  off !" 

"  I   'spect  you's   right,  boss,   in   de   main ; 
We'se  got  de  right  to  wote,  dat's  plain ! 
But  jist   edzackly   w}iar''s  de  gain? 

Dar,   I's  in   doubt  ! 
Dat's  wot  dis  stupid  niggah's  brain 
Cain't  flgger  out !" 

Granger. 
Victoria,  111. 


KORRE>ST'S   ATTACK,  KEB'Y  3,  1863. 


I  s'pose  you've  heard,  the  Eighty-Third  Fort  Donelson  were 
guarding,    boys. 

Our  regiment  had  there  been  sent,  commanded  by  old  Hard- 
ing, boys. 

Our  teeth  alack  !  to  crack  hard  tack,  had  scarce  the  combi- 
nation got. 

We'd  never  met  the  rebels  yet,   nor  half  our    education    got! 

That  we  were  green  was  easy  seen,  and  War  was  a  new 
game  to  us, 

And  ace  and  jack  in  our  new  pack  were  pretty  much  the 
same  to  us. 

Stripes  on  the  sleeve  we  could  believe,  were  full  as  nice  as 
shoulder  straps, 

The  difference  clear  would  soon  appear,   before  we  were  much 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  225 

ft 

older  chaps  ! 

For,    though    the    sword  few    rebels     gored,    but    bullets     did 
the  killing  all, 

To  claim  the  fame  wheu  victory    came,    the    shoulder    straps 
were   willing  all  ! 

Back  in  the  home  from  which  we'd  come,  where   equals    full 
the   men  are  all, 

We'd  never  guessed  who    ranked    the    best,  a  Corporal  or    a 
General  ! 

We   thought  it  fun  to  "tote  a  guu,"  and  shine  it  up,   inspec- 
tion-day, 

And  proud  we  played  at  Dress  Parade,   as  Paddy  on  election 
day  ! 

We  thought  we'd  lick  the  rebels  quick,    and  then    go    pranc- 
ing home  again. 

We  found,  too    late,  we'd    years    to    wait,    and  may-be  "cut 
and  come  again  ! " 

Well,  one  cold   morn,    sure    as    you're    born,  as    we    our 

hash  were  cooking  it. 
Our  scouts  right  down    throvigh    Dover  town  at  fearful  pace 

came   "hooking  it"  ! 
And  then  the  word  we  quickly  heard — they  told  it  in  a  hur- 
ry too  ! 
How  Forrest's  crowd  had  roundly  vowed,    our    little   camp  to 

scurry  through. 
They  swore  they'd  eat  our  bread    and    meat,    our  "hard-tack, 

and  sowbelly"  all. 
And  if  we  chose  to  wait  for  blows,  they'd  pound  to    a    jelly 

all! 
That  Forrest's  horse,  and  Wheeler's  force,  and  eke  bold  Gen'- 

ral  Wharton,   too. 
Ten  thousand  strong  rode  swift  along,  a    prancing    and    cav- 

ortin'  too  ! 
They  sent  a  rag  they  called  a  flag,  to  tell  how  strong  their 

forces  were, 


226  A   SHEAF   OF   GBAIN 

That  we'd  best  yield  and    quit    tlie    field    before    they    rode 

their  horses   there; 
If  they  got  mad  they'd    hurt    us     bad,    and  charge  us   right 

through  Dover,    there. 
Advised  each   soul   to   hunt  his  hole,    for    fear    we'd  get   run 

over  there  ! 
That  Yankee    gore    in    floods    would    pour,    there  warn't  the 

slightest  doubt  of  it; 
When  ten  fight  one  'twas  ugly  fun;    if  wise  we'd  best  sneak 

out  of  it ! 
That,  mad  as  hoes,  ten    thousand    foes    were  riding  like   the 

d — 1  there, — 
If  Harding  squealed,  and  'greed    to    yield,    'twould  show    his 

head  was  level  there  ! 

Our  Colonel  laughed  !    (they  thought   him  daft,  and  voted 

him  a  sardine,  then ) 
He  swore  the  boys    from    Illinois,    would    stick    by    Colonel 

Harding,  then. 
His  men  were   fev/  to  theirs,  he  knew;    besides,  he'd  heard  it 

said,   o'  late. 
That   Yankees  three    would    turn    and  flee,  before  one  fierce 

Confederate  ! 
We  numbered  then  eight    hundred    men — sorry   there   wasn't 

more   of  us, 
For,  clear  as  mud,    each    Southern  blood  could  gobble    up   a 

score  of  us ! 

Well,  on  they  came  to    bag  their    game, — you    bet,   there 

was  a  pile  of  them. 
And  shot  and  shell  they  threw  like — well,    we    lay    within   a 

mile   of  them 
And  held  our  ground  till    Forrest    found    the  game  was   not 

advancing  on. 
When  up  the  hill  at  speed  to  kill  the    line    of    Rebs     came 

prancing    on ! 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  227 

We  gave  a  cheer,  and  you  might  hear  eight  hundred  rifles 
popping  then, 

And  on  the  ground,  for  acres  round,  the  raiders  fell  to  drop- 
ping, then. 

Then  "Jack  fell  down  and  broke  his  crown,"  and  valiant  Jill 
skedaddled    then. 

And  such  a  shout  our  boys  sent  out,  as  down  the  hill  they 
paddled  then  ! 

To  charge  they  tried  on  every  side,  till  night  had  let  her 
curtain  fall. 

But  "doubtful  things,"  the  Poet  sings,  are  always  quite  "un- 
certain" all; 

like  lions  bold  before  our  fold,  at  noon  these  rebs  we  find 
them,  ah ! 

Like  sheep  at  night  they  take  their  flight,  and  leave  much 
wool  behind  them,  ah  ! 

Then,  here's  a  tear  for  comrades   dear,   who  in  that  fight 
went  under, — 
And   here's  a  laugh  at  rebel  chaff,  and  Forrest's  fatal   blunder. 
And   here's    a  cheer,  long,    loud    and    clear,    for    the    flag  our 

camp  adorning. 
And  every  one  who  fired  a  gun  that  Fe  bruary  morning ! 

Co.  K.  83d  Ills. 
Fort  Donelson,  February,   1863. 


228  A   SHEAF  OF  GBAIN. 


{Writte7i  by  request,  for  Rev.  J.  W.  Gue's  New  Book.) 

Sliall      Our     Country's     Klag    Wave     Over     Her 

Altars  ? 


Where  Altars  to  our  Maker    rise, 
There  let  His  standards  greet  the  skies; 
And  to  Heaven's  welcoming  breezes  fling 
The  banners   of  Our  Lord  the  King ! 

Where  Freedom's  armies  guard  the  land 
Let  her  proud  standard-bearers  stand, — 
O'er  hill  and  plain,  from   shore  to  shore 
Moat  her  blest    symbols    evermore  ! 

God  of  the   Saints !    Land  of  the   Free  ! 
Let  your  fair  banners  blended  be ! 
And  o'er  Heaven's  sacred  altars  wave 
The  Flag  that  guards  the  Free  and  Brave ! 

Thus  blended   shall  to  us  be  given 
The  love  of  Home,  of  God  and  Heaven ! 
Thus,  in  our  grateful  hearts  shall  rise 
Hopes  of  a  Home  beyond  the  skies  I 

Thus   shall   Religion's   sacred  fire 
The  Patriot's   heart  with  warmth  inspire  ! 
Thus  shall  the  Patriot's  gifts  in  turn 
On  blest  Religion's  altar  burn  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIX.  229 

And   love  of  God   walk   hand   in   hand 
With  love  of  Man  and  Native  Land  ! 
Christ's   kinf^dom   shall  the   whole   world   span 
With  "Peace   on  Earth,   Good  will  to  Man ! " 

J.  W.  T. 

Victoria,  Ills.,  April  12,  1890. 


THE  RETUKN   OE  ADAIVI  AND  EVE. 


Six  thousand  years  ago — a  date      , 

Marked  by  the  birth  of  man, 
Young  Adam  and  his  blooming  mate 

Their  pilgrimage  began. 
They  lived  and  loved;    by  sorrows  tried 

From  youth  to  age  they  passed; 
And  clasping  faithful  hands,  they  died, 

True   comrades  to  the    last  ! 

And,  as  they  pressed  their  dying  bed 

Where  side  by  side  they  lay, 
The  listening  Angel  at  its  head 

Bore   their  last   prayer  away: 
"O  thou,  to  whom  we  owe  our  birth, 

God  of  the  circling  spheres, 
Grant  us  a  brief  return  to  Earth 

When   pass  six  ^  thousand  years  !  " 

Back  flew  the  Angel,  sad  of  face, 
As  loath  such  boon  to  bear. 


230  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

With  answer  from  the  Throne  of  Grace, 
Granting  their  latest   prayer ! 

And  Adam  and  his  faithful  wife 
Cheered   by  the   promise  given, 

Rose  from  Earth's  scenes  of  care  and  strife 
To  the  sweet  peace  of  Heaven  ! 


thousand  years  of  joy  and    pain, 


Dragged  their  slow  rounds, — and  then 
Old  Adam  and  his  wife  again 

Walked  with  the  sons  of  men  ! 
As  angels  might,  they  trod  the  green 

Or  skimmed  the  yielding    air. 
Seeing  all  things,  themselves   unseen, 

A  sad,  observant  pair  ! 

They  viewed,  surprised.  Earth's  peopled  plains, 

Her  palaces  of  pride. 
Her  railroads,  with  their  thousand  trains, 

Her  wires  for  Thought  to  ride  1 
They  marked  the  state  that  Grandeur  keeps,— 

The  treasures  Wealth  doth  store,— 
The  Banker,  mid  his  golden  heaps. 

The   Beggar  at  his  door  ! 

They  walked  where  thrones  of  despots  stood, 

Propped  by  a  million   swords,— 
Saw  starving  peasants  robbed  of  food 

To  feed  their  pampered  lords  ! 
They  saw  the   rich  oppress  the  poor. 

The  strong  the  weak    subdue, 
The   many  patiently  endure 

Their  thralldom  to  the  few  ! 

The  soil  God  gave  to  Adam's   sons, 
Whose  fruits  his  children  fed, 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Made  merchaudi.se  by  favored  ones 

While  millious  wanted  bread ! 
The   food  His  bounty  meant  for  all, 

His  stores  of  meat  and  meal, 
Left  to  the  heartless  gambler's  call, 

The  trickster's  cunning    deal  I 

They  saw  sad  "Virtue  toil  in  rags, 

Proud  Vice  in  purple  flaunt,— 
Heard  Fraud,  backed  by  his  money-bags 

His  honest  victims  taunt ! 
Saw  prosperous  scoundrels  high  in  state; 

True   merit  in  distress; 
Heard  godless  villains  praised  as  great, 

Where  Sin  had  brought  Success  ! 

They  saw   rich  fields,  by  peasants  tilled. 

Yield  bounteous  crops  of  grain,— 
They  saw  huge  bins  and  store-rooms,  filled 

From  car  and  loaded  wain. 
They   saw  the  landlord's  agents  seize 

These  stores  of  golden  wheat. 
While  coarse  black  bread,  of  rye  and  pease 

The  gaunt  producers    eat ! 

They  saw  tall  Churches  rear   their  spires 

To  Heaven,  in  costly  show, 
Where  pious  crowds,  in  rich  attires 

In  Sabbath  splendor  go;— 
While,  grimed  and  ragged,  starved  and  gaunt, 

Mocked  by  the  Sabbath  bell. 
In  festering  slums,  in  vice   and  want 

Their  suffering  brothers  dwell  ! 

They  heard  the  Preacher,  long  and  loud 

Score  Vanity  and  Pride, 
While   congregations  vain  and   proud 


231 


232  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

His  burning  words  deride  ! 
And  Vice  dozed  in  his  cushioned    pew. 

In   spotless  garments   dressed; 
And  Sin,   unblushing,   listened  too, 

And  knelt  among  the    rest ! 

They   saw  the   Missionary  go 

To  preach  a  Saviors    love, — 
Rum  filled  the  vessel's  hold   below, 

While  cannons  frowned  above  ! 
To   deck  their   Emperor's  diadems 

Went   soldiers   stout  and   bold 
From  India's  fanes  to  filch  their  gems, 

From  Afric's  chiefs  their    gold ! 

They  saw  vast  armies  tread  the   plain. 

Their  murderous  work  to  do, — 
Where  brothers,  like  their  first-born,  Cain, 

Their  guiltless  brothers    slew ! 
They  learned  what  moved  these  armies  both. 

To   death   and   slaughter  pressed: 
Some  tyrants   in   the   East  were   wroth 

With  tyrants  in  the  West ! 

They  saw,  in  many  a  city    proud, — 

In  many  a  palace  tall. 
Their  foe,  the  Serpent,   still  allowed 

To  tempt  mankind  to  fall ! 
No  snake's   smooth  skin  he   harbors  in,, 

No  tree  of  good  and    evil, 
A  glass  _pf  Gin  now  lures  to  sin, 

He   starts  confessed,  a  Devil ! 

And  Christians  meet  him  in  the  way 
And  touch   his  horrid  hand ; 

His  blood-polluted  gold,  they  say, 
Pays  tribute  in  the  land ! 


A   SUEAF  OF  GRAIN.  233 

But,  writ  iu  fire,  this  legend   stands, — 

They   know  its  meaning  well, — 
"Gold   taken   from   the   Devil's   hands. 
Will  pave  the  road  to    Hell!" 


"  Oh  Earth  !"  they  cried  ;  "  with   all  thi^y  pride. 


Thy  progress,  and  thy  powers, — 
Poorer  thou  art  than  when  we  died, 

Near  Eden's  youthful  bowers  ! 
For,  though  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  then. 

Scant  crops  of   fruit  had  grown, 
Yet  Happiness  then  dwelt  with  men. 

And  want  was  still  unknown  !" 

"What  is   your  Wisdom   worth   to-day. 

Bought  at  Contentment's  cost  ? 
What  boon  can  Science  give,  to  pay 

For  Peace  and  Plenty    lost  ? 
Why  boast  your  educated  Minds, — 

Your  vision's  wider   span. 
When  broken  is  each  link  that  binds 

The   heart  of  Man  to  Man  ! 

Ah,   bitter  fruit  to  humankind  ! 

Though   knowledge   it  impart, 
And   strength  to   the   expanded  mind, 

It  robs  the  shrunken  heart ! 


234  A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

Men  boast  their  progress  and  success  ! 

Hear  our  just  verdict  given : 
They've  robbed  the  Earth  of  Happiness, 

And  won  men's   souls  from  Heaven  !" 

Thus  spake  old  Adam  and  his  wife, 

Prom   hearts  oppressed  with   pain. 
And,  sickened  at  Earth's  scenes  of  strife 

Flew  back  to  Heaven  again  ! 
And  as  its  gate  wide   open    flies 

In  welcome,  at  their  call, 
St.   Peter   sees  from  those  sad  eyes 

Unwonted  tear-drops  fall ! 


J.  W.  T. 


LIKE. 


Life  is  a  boundless  sea 
Stirred  into  motion  by  an  vmknown  force; 
Its  tides  and   currents  hold  their   destined  course, 

Its  bubbles  light  are  we ! 

We  toss  amid  its   waves; 
For  a  brief  moment  glitter  in  the    sun, 
Hodge,  Jacques,   Karl, — Caesar,  Napoleon, — 

Kings,   heroes,  peasants,  slaves  ! 

The  restless  deep   rolls  on; 
The  fragile  bubbles  dance,  and  swell,  and  shine, 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN.  235 

Then,   beaten,  swallowed  by  the  surging  brine 
They  burst— and  we  are  gone  ! 

Life  is  an  endless  plain. 
Where  verdure,  still  succeeding,  blooms  and    dies, 
We   may  not  know  what  Power  the  sap   supplies 

How  gained,  how   lost  again ! 

And  we're  but  summer  flowers  ! 
We   spring  unconscious  from   our  beds  of  clay; 
We   grow,   we  blossom  through  our  destined  day, — 

We  perish  with  its   hours  ! 

Life  is  a  boundless  sky. 
Where   storms  rave   M'ild,  or  pleasing  zephyrs  stray; 
Where  light  and  shade  their  parts  alternate  play, 

To  please  or  plague  the  eye  ! 

And  we   are  transient  clouds 
Driven  here  and  there  by  forces  not  our  own. 
That  flash  and  thunder  in  the  torrid  zone 

Or  wrap  the   North  in   shrouds  ! 

But  brief  our  destined  lot ! 
Life's  mighty  Sun  dissolves  our  changeful  forms, 
Or,  dashed  to  Earth  in  Summer's   hurtling  storms 

We   sink,   and  are   forgot ! 

Will  the  lost  bubbles  rise? 
Will  the  fallen  flowers  their  beauteous  forms  renew? 
Will  vanished  clouds  resume  fair  shape  and  hue 

In  future   earth,  seas,  skies  ? 

Will   princes,   peasants,  slaves, — 
The   lofty  and  the  lowly  sons  of  earth. 
Merged  in  the  elements  that  gave  them  birth 

Rise  from  their   scattered  graves? 


236  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

"Seas   shall  give   up   their  dead  ! " 
Man's  time-bleached  bones  shall  in  Earth's  valleys  shake, 
His  quickened  dust  at  the  dread   summons  wake, — 

Thus  hath   his   Maker  said  ! 

Increase  our  faith,  O   Lord ! 
Our  sight  is  dim,— our  knowledge  barred  by  Fate  ! 
Our  staff  of  Reason    bends  beneath   our  weight ! 

We   lean   upon   Thy  Word  ! 

Gr  anger. 
Victoria,  Illinois. 


I990,_A    DREAIVt. 


I  dreamed :   a  world   before  me  spread  : 

'Twas  Earth ;   I   knew  it  well ; 
The   same   Sun,  in  the   sky  o'erhead ; 

Broad   plain,   and  woody   dell ; 
Fair  lake,  bright  stream,  expanding  sea. 
Dance   in  the   light   right   merrily ; 
And   mountain   ranges,  capped  with   snow 
Their   white,   crowne'd   summits   grandly   show, 

And  plains,  where  millions  dwell. 

Yet,  in  my  dreams  vast  change  I  see 

From   the   old  world  I   knew  ; 
These   plains  are  hives  of  Industry, 

But   homes   of  Comfort   too. 
Each   white-walled  cot   refinement  shows, —  • 


A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN'.  237 

On  each  glad   face   Contentmeut  glows  ; 
The   sunburnt  toilers  of  the   land, 
These   laborers   with  head   and   hand 
Seem   brothers,   sworn   and   true  ! 

And  Labor  doth  her  children   bless  ; 

Each  wins   his  daily  food  ; 
And  Honor  waits   on   Usefulness, 

And  glory   crowns  the   good  ! 
Here,  selfish  craft  meets   honest    scorn, 
And  Wealth,   of  greed  and   cunning   born, 
Finds  none  so  base  the  head  to  bow, 
But  dark  Dishonor  stamps  the   brow 

Of  Mammon's  hated  brood  !  ,*  -^ 

And  honest  pride,  on   Merit  based, 

Has  banished   pride   of   Caste, 
And  Aristocracy,  disgraced, 

Has  perished  with  the   Past  ! 
And  nobles,  emperors,  and  kings 
Rank  with  Time's  half-forgotten  things, 
Which  students  glean  from  History's  page 
To  score,  as  doth  each  present  age 

The  follies   of   the   last ! 

And  armies,  with  their  murderous   tools 

Tread  Earth's  stained  fields   no   more, 
Armed  with  those  arguments  of  fools, 

Which   ruled   her  tribes  of  yore  ; 
The  Law  that  saith :   "  Tbou  shalt  not  kill!" 
To  earth   brings   peace,  to   man  good-will  ; 
And  he   who  hath  his  brother  slain 
Wears  now  the  blood-red  brand   of  Cain, 

Nor  pleads  the  rights  of  War  ! 


338  A  SHEAF   OF  GUAIN. 

That  statesman  wins  the  loftiest  name 

Who  stands  the  People's  friend, — 
The  public  good,  his  country's  fame, 

His  highest  aim  and  end  ! 
Their  Congress  halls  no   discords  greet, 
No  section  lines,  no  party  heat ; 
They  send  their  purest  and  their  best 
From  North  and  South,  from   East  and  West, 
Whose  mutual  interests  blend. 

Man's  vain  ambition  doth  not  call 

For  wealth,  nor  high   estate, 
For  palace  tall,   or  marble  hall, 

Where  trembling  vassals  wait ! 
For  he  alone  can  honors  own 
Who  in  men's  hearts  erects  his  throne. 
And,  through  high  virtues,  wisdom,  skill, 
Keigns  o'er  them  by  their  own  free  will, 

Though  poorest  in  the  State  ! 

Here,  too,  true  Womanhood  doth  well 

Her  loving  heart  express  ! 
No  vulgar  rivalries  compel 

Extravagance  of  dress ; 
Her  woman's  kindness  here  extends 
To  spare  the  pride   of  poorer  friends  ; 
And  love  and  sisterhood  inspire 
In  modest  garb,  and  plain  attire 

To  deck  her  loveliness ! 

And   'tis  the  Statesman's  proudest  boast. 

The  Patriot's  purpose  high. 
No  life  through  want  need  now  be  lost, 

No  wretch  unaided  die  I 
For,  free  from  waste  through  war  and  pride, 
The  earth  doth  for  her  sons    provide  ; 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  29^ 

And  light  the  burden  sits  as  air, 
Where  each  one    gladly  lifts  his  share, 
And  none   stand  idly  by ! 

And  leisure  every  laborer  hath 

Twixt  hours  of  toil,  I  ween. 
To  tread  in  Learning's  tempting  path, 

Or  Fancy's  vistas  green. 
No  Burns  need  starve,  to  frame  his  verse, — 
No  Goldsmith  groan  'neath  hunger's  curse  ; 
No  science-loving  son  of   toil, 
Need  waste  o'er  books  the   midnight  oil, 

His  dreary  tasks  between  ! 

The  fevered  craze  for  gold  was  o'er 

When  fear   of  want  had  died. 
The  thief  had  wish  to  steal  no  more 

Who  found  his  wants  supplied. 
The  Judge,  his  occupation  gone. 
Sought  cheerier  themes  to  ponder  on  ; 
The  Jailor  left  his  door    ajar. 
Or  welcomed  wanderers  from  afar 

To  rooms  unoccupied  ! 

No  city  crowds  her  sick  and  poor 

In  alley,  sink  and  slum  ; 
Their  bodies  and  their  souls  to  cure 

To  the  fresh  fields  they've  come. 
Their  wealth  the  generous  bankers  give 
To  bid  the  needy  exiles  live ; 
The  soil,  God's  gift  to  Adam's  sons. 
Once  held  but  by  Earth's  favored  ones 

Man's   birthright  hath  become ! 

And  in  my   dream  an  aged   man 

I  met,  with  locks  of  snow. 
But  hale  and  bright,— whose  life  began 


240  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

An  hundred  years  ago ! 
For  happy  years  leave  little  trace 
Of  age,  to  seam  the  care-free  face  ; 
And  lightsome  tasks,  and  temperate  joys 
Make   old  men   pass  for  older  boys, 

Whose  cheeks  with  color  glow  ! 

I  spoke  :  the  venerable  man 

Replied,  with  thoughtful  brow, 
When  questioned  of  their   social  plan,^ 

When  introduced,  and   how  ? 
"I  mind  full  well,"  the  sage  replies. 
With  bended  head,   and  thoughtful  eyes, — 
"How  Earth,   some   fourscore  years  ago 
Lay  drenched  in  blood,  and  plunged  in  woe, 
('Tis  Nineteen  Ninety  now  !") 

Then,  Russia,  swol'n  to  giant  power. 

Ruled  by  a  warlike   Czar, 
Struck  England,  in  an  evil    hour. 

And  plunged   a  world   in  war ! 
The  Nations,  ranged  on  either  side, 
In   brutal  wrath  and  carnage  \'ied. 
And  thrones,  that  centuries  had'  stood. 
Toppled  and  fell  in  seas  of  blood, 

'Neath  War's   all-leveling  car ! 

At  last,  their  blood,  their  treasure   gone, 

Their  power  and  prestige   fled. 
Earth's  wisest  baffled  and  o'erthrown, 

Her  bravest  with  the  dead, 
A  humble  Poet  rose,  to  sing 
The  praises  of  Our  Lord,  the  King, 
The  Prince  of  Peace,  whose  heaven-born   Plan 
Rests  on  the  Brotherhood  of  Man, 

For  whom  man's  Savior  bled ! 


A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN.  2A1 

■"Twas  no  new  song  he  sang — 'twas  sung 

Two  thousand  years  ago, 
When  angels,  in  a  heavenly   tongue 

Sang   peace   to   men  below  ! 
Our   Savior   framed  a   Golden   Rule, 
So   plain  a  wayfarer    or  a  fool. 
Or  he   who   runs,   its  text  may  read, 
The   simplest  soul  its  teachings  heed. 

Its   priceless  blessings  know  ! 

But  still,  in  neither  Church  nor  State, 

That  blessed  Rule  held  sway. 
Pope,   priest  and  king — the   rich,   the  great. 

Still  said   their   Savior    nay  ! 
To  share  their  wealth  with  souls   in  need, 
To  put  their  ban  on  selfish  greed. 
Pull  down  the   gods   of  kist   and  pride 
And  own  a  Savior  Crucified, — 

They  shunned  that  better  way ! 

The  Poet   touched  each  bleeding  heart 

That  throbbed  with  human  woe, 
With  heavenly  balsam  eased  the   smart,-  - 

Forbade  the   blood  to  flow  ! 
The  wand  he  used  was  gospel  love. 
The  balsam,  that  distilled  above 
From  drops  caugh-t  when  the  Savior  bled, 
For  healing  of  the  nations,   shed 

On  Calvary's  mountain  low  ! 

The  nations,   anxious  to   be  healed. 

Made  haste  the  boon  to  win, 
Forsook  their  pride,  by  grief  congealed. 

Their  selfishness  and  sin. 
Like  little  children,  meek  and  still. 
They  flocked  to  Christ  to  learn  his  will, 


242  A   SHEAF  OF   GRAIN 

Then  framed  their  codes,  and  built  their  state 
On  laws  of  love  that  banished  hate, 
And  cleansed  the   heart  within  ! 

No  armies  now  his  subjects  need. 

No  ships,  with  guns  of  might; 
No  brothers  now  by  brothers  bleed. 

No  serfs  for  freedom  fight ! 
No  rivalry  inflames  our    blood. 
Save  friendly  strife  in  doing  good ! 
No  vain  ambition  now  is  known, 
Save  zeal  to  win  a  heavenly  crown, 

And  triumph  for  the  Right !" 

He  ceased :    I  reached  to  grasp  his  hand : 

I  wote :   no   hand  was  there  ! 
I  looked  forth  o'er  a  troubled  land, 

On  misery  everywhere  ! 
I  thought :   Is  this  our  boasted   age. 
Of  scholars  ripe,  of  thinkers  sage  ? 
Can  none   a  ray  of  comfort  throw 
To  cheer  this  grief-wrung  world  below, 

Or  cure  the  ills  we  bear? 

Was't  ^  but  a  dream?    Was't  prophecy, 
This  glimpse  o'er  Time's  broad  plain? 
Vague  forecast  of  the  far  To  Be, 

When  Christ  on  Earth  shall  reign  ? 
Or  was  it  but  a  vision  given 
To  light  our  earthly  path  to  Heaven,— 
A    glimpse  vouchsafed  me  here  below 
To  teach  the  way  we  needs  must  go, 
True  happiness  to    gain  ? 

Lord,  teach  true  wisdom  to  the  wise, 

True  greatness  to  the  great ! 
Bid  statesmen  worth  the  name  arise 


A  SUEAF  OF  GRAIN.  243 


To  guide  our  erring  State  ! 
Bid  selfishness  and  greed  depart, 
And  fell  ambition,  from  each  heart ; 
And  hasten,  from  Thy  throne  above 
The  reign  of  Justice  and  of  Love, 

For  which  Thy  servants    wait ! 

Victoria,  111.,  April,  1890. 


J.  W.  T. 


{Read  at  a  Celebration,  July  4,  1888,  at  Victoria,  III.) 

1776— 1888. 


It  chanced,  some  centuries  ago,  ere  Uncle  Sam  was  born. 
Some  Yankees  settled  "way ,  down  East,"   and  went  to  raising 

corn; 
(Some    say    they    stole    their    seed-corn,    but    I've  heard  my 

grand-dad   say 
They  "borrowed  it"  from  Indian  cribs,  while  the  owners  were 

away !  ) 

I  leave  that  to  our  preachers  here — the  question's  in  their  line, 
Whether  they    acted    on    the    square,    or    "played    it    rather 

fine"  ? 
The  seed  proved  good— they  raised  a  crop;  and  History  hastes 

to  tell. 
They   paid  two  bushels  back  for   one,  and    still    had    corn  to 

sell! 


244  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

Well,  after  many  weary  years,  of    hardship,  toil  and  strife, 
"Worried  by  famines,  plagues  and  wars,  and  the  dreaded  scalp- 

ing-knife. 
These  hardy  Yankee  pioneers,  who  wielded  gun   and  hoe. 
Caused  mighty  States  to  spring  to    birth,    as  well  as  corn  to 

grow. 

Then,  Yankee  thrift  and    shrewdness    told    him,   'twasn't  just 

the  thing 
To  send  his  "pine  tree   shillings"  off,  to  help  support  a  King ! 
"Twas  a  pesky   shame !"    he  grumbled,  and  through  his    nose 

growled  he, 
*'He'd  be  'tarnally  gol-twisted  if  he'd  pay  a  tax  on   Tea  ! " 

Old  Johnny  Bull,  his  sturdy  sire,  got  word  across  the  water, 

t 

And  sent  a  lot  of  red-coats    here    to    teach    him    that  "he'd 

orter !" 
And  so  the  "argyment"  commenced,  with  sword  and  shot  and 

shell, 
But  at  Lexington    and    Bunker's    Hill    the    Yankees    argued 

well! 

Still,    Johnny    Bull    kept    sending     troops— he    was    a     royal 

"crank"! 
And    Uncle    Sam    kept    growing    boys    to    fill  each  thinning 

rank, — 
And  thus  through  seven    long,   weary  years  our  fortunes  went 

and  came. 
Till  the  Yankees    bagged    Cornwallis,    and    that    finished    up 

the  game  ! 

And  here,  this  Fourth  day  of  July,  their  grandsons    meet  to 

say, 
"We're  thankful  to  our  sturdy  sires  for  giving  us  this  day, — 
To  call  to  mind  those  heroes  who  mid    want,    and    cold    and 

snow 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  245 

Licked   out  the    "bloody    Britishers!"    (Mart  Blackburn,  ain't 

it  so?) 
We  whipped  them  in  two  bloody  wars,— and  yet,  how  strange 

it  ends ! 
Old  Johnny  Bull  and  Uncle  Sam  are  now  the  best  of  friends! 
They    trade    and    visit     back    and    forth,    as  "thick"  as  they 

can    be, 
And  they  gossip  through  the  wires  beneath  a  thousand  leagues 

of  sea ! 

But  Uncle   Sam,  in  course  of  time,  had  troubles  of  his  own. 
There  "was  a  nigger  in  the  fence"  would  not  be    let    alone  I 
And  pulling  Sambo  to  his  feet,  and  saying  he  was  free 
Set    North    and    South    to    punching  heads,  as  mad  as  they 
could  be  ! 

And  long  and  bloody  was  the  strife, — twas  worse  than  "Greek 

meet  Greek", 
For    "Yank"    and    "Johnny"    both    were     brave,    and    neither 

side  was  weak,— 
And    oh !     it    was    a    piteous    thing,    that  long  and  doubtful 

fray. 
Which  drenched  thy  hills  and   plains   with   blood,  fair  North 

America ! 

Yet  proud  the  list  of  those  who  fell,  the  Union  to  main- 
tain,— 

And  proud  the  heroes  who  survived,  their  country's  cause 
to   gain, 

A  galaxy  of  honored  names  for    future  times  to  see, 

Cap.  Reynolds,  Sherman,  Hancock,  Grant,  Phil.  Sheridan  and 
vie! 

And  several  more  of    lesser    note,    whose    names  I'll   not  re- 
hearse. 
For  being  half  a  million   more,   'twould  cumber  up  my  verse. 


216  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

And  some  of  you,  who  wore   the    Blue,  and    bravely    fought, 

no  doubt, 
Would  want  to  punch  the  poet's    head,  to    find    their  names 

left  out! 

The  war  was  o'er — the  Union  saved,  and  joy  walked  through 

the  land. 
When  fell  our  great    War    President    beneath    the  assassin's 

hand. 
Great  Lincoln !    Noblest  of   the    chiefs    who    that    high    seat 

had  won. 
Since  grateful  patriots  of  old  thus  honored    Washington  ! 

And  now  our  Nation  bourgeons    forth    in    wealth  and  power 

and  pride 
And  sixty  million  souls  repose  beneath  its  branches  wide, 
And  many  millions  more,  no  doubt,   are   waiting  to  be    born, 
To  fill  the  land  where,  years  ago,  the  Yankee  hoed  his  corn! 

Parties  spring  up,   and     rule     in    turn,    grow    weak,    collapse, 

and  fall, 
Whigs,  Democrats,   Republicans,   Greenbackers,  each  and  all 
May    gain    the  helm,   each  in  its  turn  !    have   patience,  boys, 

and    wait. 
But  onward  in    her    proud    career,    still    sails    the     Ship  of 

State  ! 

What  boots  the   name  a  statesman   wears  ?    If  honest  be  the 

man, 
He   is  a  Patriot  all  the  same,  and  an  American  ! 
And  while  we  meet  to  celebrate  our  Nation's  birth  and  fame, 
We're  all  Americans  to-day,  and  drop  each  party  name  ! 

Then,  fling  our  banner  to    the    breeze  !    forever  floating  free 
Proud  flag,  be  token  to  the  world    of  glorious  Liberty  ! 


A  SHEAF  OF  GEAIN.  247 

No  North,  no  South,  no  East,  no  West,    thy    sole    protection 

claims, 
But  all  America  enjoy  thy  shelter  and   thy  fame  ! 

J.  W.  T. 

July  4,  1888. 


Written  for  the  Farmers'  Picnic,  near  Oneida,  Ills. 
A  WORD  TO    KARJVIERS. 


Six  thousand  years,  or  thereabout 

Have  dragged  on,  sad  and  slow. 

Since  Adam  came,  a  tenant  stout. 

To  till  God's   farm   below. 
The  lease  framed  for  the  sons  of  men 
Is  drawn  for  threescore  years  and  ten. 
And  when    with  death  their  holdings    cease, 
The  sons  take  up  their    fathers'  lease. 
And  learn  to  plow   and  sow. 

Tis  said,  an   angel  came  with   seed. 
With   vine,  and  plant,   and   root : 
That  Satan  brought  each  noxious  weed, 

With  the  forbidden  fruit  ! 
I  cannot  say :— I   have  no  skill 
To^  guess  our  Maker's  hidden    will ; 
I  only   know,  we  renters  here 
Fight  loeeds  and  sin  from  year  to  year. 
Which  still  our  rights  dispute. 


24S  A.  SHEAF  OF   GRAIN. 

And  here,  on  God's  rich  farm  we    toil, 

As  honest  tenants    may  ; 
With  sweating   brows  we  till  tlie   soil 

In  Heaven's  appointed    way. 
No  other  trade   or   craft  can  claim 
The   sanction  of  His  mighty  name, 
Or  trace   its   skill,  to  workmen  given, 
To  angel  teachers  sent  by  Heaven, 

In  good   old  Adam's  day ! 

I'm  no   theologist,  not  I ! 

Yet  this  much   I'll   maintain  : 
We   have   a  Vv'arrant   from   on   high 

For   raising  fruit   and  grain  ! 
The   merchant,  lawyer,  banker,  all 
Pursue  where  tastes  and  pleasvire  call ; 
The  Farmer,  of  all   craftsmen  known, 
Hath  his  task  set  by  God  alone. 

To  till  the  fruitful  plain! 

So,   on  this  ground  I'll  take  my  stand. 

And  prove   my  logic   clear, — 
Who  doth  God's  work  on  God's  own  land 

Outranks   all   others  here  ! 
Make  room,  then,  men   of  other    ranks, 
Who  toil   in   stores,  in   shops,   in  banks  : 
When  you  the  honest  Farmer  meet. 
Yield  him  the   sidewalk  and  the  street  ! 

He  ranks  you,  never  fear  ! 

Your  paltry  wealth  you  flaunt   in  vain. 

Your  learning  and  your  pride ; 
God's  tenants,  who  produce  His  grain, 

Your  puny  claims   deride  ! 
Show,  if  you  can,  in  holy  writ. 
Heaven's  stamp  on  pride,  on  wealth,  and  wit  f 


A   SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  2i9 

But  in  His  sacred  page  we    scan 
Where   He   hath  blessed  the   husbandman, 
The   helpmate  by  his  side  ! 

Another  point  I  wish  to  make, — 

I  hope  you'll  take  it  in, — 
The  farmer  handled   hoe  and  rake 

Before  the  birth  of  sin  ! 
Kept  Eden's  garden  fair  to  view 
Long  ere  the  Serpent  wriggled    through  ! 
So,  in  a  world  of  wicked  men, 
He   toils  in  innocence  as  then. 

When  toil  did  first  begin  ! 

And,  as  in  guileless  mood  we   work, 

So  trusting  and   so  green, 
Some  Serpents  still   among  us  lurk, 

Our  garden-plots   between  ! 
Each  snake  doth  sport  a  different    name, 
Yet  they  are  serpents  all  the   same. 
And  all,  their  lineage  can  trace 
To  the  arch-serpent  of  the   race, 

In  Eden's  garden    seen  ! 

One   snake,  who  rears  his   wriggling  crest, 

And  rolls  his  glittering  eye. 
Is  called   a  Trust  ;  one  ugly  beast 

Is  named  Monopoly  ! 
And  one,  before  whom   farmers  quail, — 
A  snake   with  rattles   on   his   tail, — 
With  teeth  sharp  as  Damascus  blade. 
Is  called  by  men  the   Board  of  Trade  ! 

The   Stock-Yard  snake's  close   by ! 

Another  snake  makes  us  his   prey, — 

The  Railroad   snake  is    he  ; 
He  is  a  brother,  by  the  way, 


250  A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN. 

To  Snake  Monopoly  ! 
They  hunt  in  couples,  lean  and  long  ; 
With  Capital,  a  serpent  strong, 
They  wind  their  folds  round  corn  and  wheat,- 
Round  all  we   raise  and  wear,  and  eat ; 

And  steal  two  parts  in  three ! 

The  Whisky  snake  crawls  forth  at  will, 
And  many  a  wretch  doth  charm  ; 

His  bites,  both  soul  and  body  kill, — 
He  swallows  field  and  farm ! 

And  vaiu  Ambition,  Fashion,  Peide, 

And  forty  other  snakes  beside, 

Crawl  through  each  meadow,  path  and  street, 

And  twist  and   squirm  about  our    feet, 
And  fill  us  with  alarm. 

But,  courage,  friends !    You  know,  'twas  said 

By  One   who  never  lied. 
The  Man  shall  bruise  the  Serpent's    head 

And  crush  in  dust  its  pride ! 
So,  boys,  get  clubs,  and  scour  the  ground, 
And  bruise  these  Snakes  wherever  found ! 
Let  Adam's  sons  avenge  their    sire. 
And  roast  each  squirming  back  with   fire, 

Or   flay  its  wriggling  hide ! 

Then,  when  we've  crushed  out  sin  and  vice, 

The  Serpent's  fatal  train. 
Shall  Man  return  to  Paradise, 

And  eat  its  fruits  again  ! 
And,  as  in  Eden's  blissful    day. 
Shall  Man,  the   Farmer,  have  full  sway  ! 
And,  like  the  beasts  to  Adam  led 
For  names,  shall  all  men  bow  the   head 

To   him  who  tills  the  plain  ! 


A   SHEAF  OF  GKAIN,  251 

Then,  Farmers  all, — my  words  attend : 

Be   no  man's  slave   or  tool : 
Just  take  the  counsel  of  a  friend 

And  Jit  yourselves  to  ride! 
Be  wise,  be  temperate,  be    just, — 
In   your  own  judgments  learn  to  trust ; 
And  strive  to  prove   these  axioms  true  ; 
"  Good  workers  make   good  thinkers  too  ;" 
"Labor  is  God's  best    school !" 

Granger. 
Oneida,  111.,  Aug.  li,  1890. 


THE  NEBULAR  HYPOTHESIS. 

(As  discussed  with   my  Boot-black  !) 


Caesar!    time  was  when   Earth  was  not  I 

But  nebulous  masses,   white   and    hot 

Rolled  through  vast  fields  of  Space,  where  thought 

Can  never  go ! 
Where  Power  Divine  His  works  hath  wrought ! 

{Ccesar:)    "I  s'pecks  dat's  so  ! " 

Friend  Caesar  !    mid  this  ether  stirred, 
Live  clouds  leaped  at  the  Almighty's  word. 
Whose  "still,  small  voice"  vast  Nature   heard, — 

And,  in  a  trice, 
Sped,  like  swift  steeds  to  battle  stirred ! 

{Ccesar:)    "Ya'as, — dat  sounds    nice  !" 


252  A   SHEAF   OF   GRAIN. 

My  sable   friend !    by  Nature's   laws, 

Each  mass  round  one  dense  nucleus  draws, 

Obedient  to  an  unknown    cause 

Called    Gravitation, 
Whose  nature  bids  proud  Science  pause ! 

{Ccasar:)    -'Dat  beats   de    nation!" 

While  thus,  by  forces   all  unknown 
Held  fast  to  Nature's  central  throne 
Each  white  globe  wanders   forth   alone, 

And  whirling  ever, 
Huge   masses  from  its  sides   are   thrown  \ 

[Ccesar:)    "Wall,  boss,  I  never!" 

These  fragments,  spun   by  innate  force, 
Take  round  the  central  orb   their  course, 
With  speed  that  mocks   slow  car  or  horse. 

Or  ball  from    gun; 
Dost  know  of  heat  and  light  the   source  ? 

(Ccesar:)    "Ki !    dats'   de   Sun!" 

Yes,  Caesar!    but  there's  more  to  do; 
Each  planet,  launched  in  ether  blue 
Throws  out  great  satellites,   which  you  view 

In  radiant    moons ! 
(Ccesar:)    "Golly,  'pears  like  we  needs  'em,  too, 

Fer  hunting  'coons  ! " 

Suns,  planets,  moons,   in   circles  vast, 
With  measured  speed   in  motion  cast. 
While  Time's  long   lease  of  life   doth  last 

Their  course   shall    run  ! 
(Ccesar:)    "Say,  boss, — de   sun  am  sottin'  fast  I 

Ain't  yer  most  done  ?  " 


A  SHEAF  OF  GRAIN.  253 

Now,  boy,  you    know  Creation's  plan 

As   well  as   I   or   any   man ! 

(Through  his  kinked  locks  his  fingers  ran 

And   scratched   his   head  !) 
"Boss,  I   don't  'zackly  onderstand 

All  you  done  said !" 

CsBsar !   my  meaning  do  not  miss : 
Philosophers  have  christened  this 
The  Nebular  Hypothesis  ! 

He  answered  slow : 
•'  Ya'as,  boss,  I've  seed   that  critter's  phiz. 

In  Barnum's    show  !" 


J.  W.  T. 


Victoria,    Ills 


s. 


THE    END. 


INDEX. 


A  Ride  in  Fancy's  Car 79 

After  Byron 199 

A  Node  tew  Our  Nu  Court  House 200 

Abram  Ben  Hewitt 191 

Andersonville 197 

A  Word    to    Farmers 217 

Come  Out  to  the  West  ! 98 

Company  K 194 

DAT    Stupid  Niggah 222 

E.  Pluribus  Unum — A  Fable 217 

Forrest's   Attack 224 

Grant's   Luck 135 

Grover's  Popularity 152 

Galesburg 203 

Ho,  FOR  Compromise 107 

I'm  Sixty-two  To-day 220 

In  Memoriam 173 

King  Alcohol 206 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Mrs.  C.  R 117 

Lines  for  Gordon  Brackett's  Album 192 

Life •   •   • 234 

Labor 181 

My  Creed  . 214 

Morning  on  the  Farm 219 


256  INDEX. 

My  Uncle  Jim 142 

Midnight  Musings 138 

MuLTUM  EX  Pakvo 132 

On  to  Copenhagen 161 

On  My  Niece's  Makriage 144 

Old  Tom  Brown 178 

Old   Settlers'  Meeting 166 

Queen  Victoria  to  Gkover  C 177 

Return  of  Adam  and  Eve 229 

So  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FaR  ! 205 

Sabbath  in  Camp 118 

Shall  our  Country's  Flag  wave  over  her  Altars? 228 

Song  of  the  Saloon 164 

Second  Battle  of  Fort  Donelson 128 

South  Carolina's   Ultimatum 104 

Song 103 

To  My  Wife  at  Home 109 

To  Morton  the  Penmaker 113 

The  Assassination Ill 

The   Lost  Atlantis 155 

The    Reporters'    Banquet 149 

The  Two  Angels 146 

The  Big  Scare 122 

The    Nebular  Hypothesis 251 

To  Gordon    Brackett 188 

To  Lieut.  R.  D.  R-  on  His  Wedding  Day 115 

Thoughts  of  Home 100 

To  Editor  Beatty 184 

To  the  G.  A.  R 209 

Waiting  for  the  Mail 126 

What  Grover  Says 153 

Woman  in  the  War •   • 120 

Wilfred— A  Tale 5 

1990— A  Dream , 236 

1776—1888 .243 


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